The Chalice of Ruine
by WinterRavenhall
Summary: Tom/Hermione. Hermione is having a Godric of a day! Having been thrown into a time portal into Riddle's era,the Golden Trio can’t BELIEVE their luck! But something about this devious Slytherin makes Hermione’s plot go horribly--if not deliciously--awry...
1. Harry's return

* * *

**Chapter One:**

The Chalice of Ruine

**Harry's Return...**

* * *

"Hogwarts!" yelled a loud voice, belonging to a boy with a set of vividly green bespectacled eyes.

He felt his body revolve and squeezed his emerald eyes with a small gasp, inhaling a great deal of smelly soot from the Weasley fireplace. Harry vaguely recalled what Fred had told him about tucking in his elbows, regretting that he'd forgotten about it since he hardly ever listened to anyone besides that little voice in his head that kept telling him to set his bed on fire. Harry felt a small knock that caused him to yelp in agony. To his huge relief, the spinning eventually stopped and Harry Potter, The Chosen One burst through the fireplace of the Headmaster of Hogwarts' fireplace on his face, spluttering. Or the Headmistress', rather.

"Evening, Potter," spoke the sardonic voice of Minerva McGonagall from the Dumbledore's old desk. She hadn't even looked up from her large tottering files piled high on the desk. "Welcome back and do try not to get too much soot on the carpet".

Harry sheepishly stopped wiping his face on his robes and grinned.  
"Sorry Professor," he said, secretly thankful that nothing had really changed since he had left.  
Looking around him, Harry felt a small pang in the lower region of his stomach.  
He was in Dumbledore's office, yet the was no tall, smiling, long crooked nosed figure wearing golden half moon glasses welcoming him back with an offer of Sherbet Lemons. Fawkes' perch was still there, but there was no phoenix in sight. Harry moved his eyes towards the portraits and stared at the painting of Sirius' great-great grandfather, Phineas Nigellus, Dippet, Dillys, Fortescue, then lastly, with another wobble in his belly, Harry stared at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's portrait smiled kindly at Harry's gaping face and gave him a small wink. After glancing at McGonagall to make sure that she was still absorbed in sorting out the enormous pile of student files, Dumbledore leaned forward towards Harry.

"Nice to see you again, Harry," he said, eyes twinkling. "I trust that you have been keeping busy since you've left Hogwarts?" Harry nodded his throat suddenly dry.

"It's been really difficult without you being around to help me, professor," he mumbled. "But I have managed to find a few leads on Voldemort's Horcruxes," he added, almost defensively in case if the professor thought Harry had dropped out of school only to laze his days away in the garage like a smelly hooligan.

Dumbledore nodded, looking very proud

" Harry," he sighed sadly. "It's times like these that make me wish I could jump out of this portrait and give you a hug and offer you some sweets, but," he paused, heaving another tiny little sigh though his eyes remained twinkling. "Owing to some very particular circumstances, I find that I am unable to do so at the moment, aside from the fact that my physical affection may lead to funny questions."

Harry's throat seemed to constrict, he could never see Albus Dumbledore as truly gone; it just isn't possible.

"However," Dumbledore cleared his throat. "You may help yourself to some sweets that I've left in the cabinet above the Pensieve." Harry hesitated, glancing at McGonagall, wondering if she would tell him off for going through her things, even if they had once belonged to Dumbledore.  
"Go on Harry," Dumbledore said encouragingly, titling his head towards the golden cabinet doors. Harry cast a quick glance at the surrounding grins on the Headmaster and Headmistresses' portraits and headed towards the said cabinet.

Harry fumbled with the magnificent golden cabinet's latch and opened the tiny doors. To his surprise, there were vast amounts of sweets that could make his piggy cousin Dudley happy for a year, and by a normal person's standards, for a lifetime. Mounds of Liquorice wands, chocolate frogs, Bertie Botts' every flavored beans, sugar quills, cockroach clusters, acid pops, Fizzing Whizbees, lemon drops, Honeydukes chocolate…Dumbledore practically had a secret sweet store in his office. As Harry, awkwardly took a handful of Sherbet lemons and a slightly moldy pumpkin pasty, he saw a magnificently embroidered but tiny violet and gold book, measuring to be about the size of his palm. Harry curiously took it.

Puzzled, he stared at Dumbledore's benign face.

"As a late birthday present, Harry," he said indulgently, his long beard quivering as he smiled. "It was a family heirloom, and I am most certain that it will serve you well in your quest to stop Lord Voldemort."

Assuming that Dumbledore meant destroying Voldemort, Harry grinned blankly and tucked the small book into a pocket in the insides of his robes.

"Sir," he began slowly, feeling the familiar prickles of discontent. "What if I were to fail?"  
It isn't usual for him to admit failure, but Harry felt disappointed that he had not found any Horcruxes on his mission so far. Only leads and it could take a lifetime, even forever, until he found and destroyed the very last one.

Dumbledore's worried frown broke into a gentle smile. "Harry, it isn't possible to think that we can find all of Voldemort's soul in three months" he admonished "Things as important as this take time."

He nodded at Harry, who nodded in reply and moved towards the door. Only when he reached the door knob, Dumbledore spoke again

"Harry, a word of advice..."

Harry paused and looked back, curious.

"Never judge things by face value, these are the mistakes that could alter a being and the pennant which can set mankind apart".

Harry nodded again. Wondering what the heck Dumbledore was on, but gave a small wave to the professor's portrait nevertheless.

* * *

...

* * *

"_Why Ronald,_ _**why**_**?**"

The very shrill screeches of Hermione Granger rang in the empty corridor of the seventh floor as she ran to keep up with her red-haired, gangly boyfriend.

Ron blanched as her bushy hair smacked him in the eye.

"I-I can't really say," he mumbled in response to her deafening yells. "It's truly not you Hermione, but it's just because I don't really see us together in the long run."

"Urgh, I _hate_ it when you don't tell me things like that," Hermione snapped. "It's like you don't trust me enough to let me know why you've ditched me!"

Ron's face turned the same colour as his hair and mumbled something darkly.

Hermione face turned beet as she shrieked

"_WHAT DO YOU MEAN I REMIND YOU OF YOUR MOTHER?!"_

Ron was about to reply but was saved by Harry who ambled happily over to them.

"I could hear you two from McGonagall's office!" he said cheerfully, slinging a brotherly arm over his ashen-faced mate. "So what's happened, this time?"

Ron started to reply quietly, but Hermione angrily interjected. "Well, it seems that Ron here thinks that I'm not good enough for him, so he decided to end our two month long relationship!"

Harry's green eyes widened as he gaped at his two best friends "Wh-what?"

"_And_ he used the pathetic: _**it's not you, it's me line**__!"_ she yelled.

Harry's face worked hard to conceal laughter as he rounded on Ron

"Ron, mate," chided Harry. "That has got to be the worst lie you've ever said, and it tops that time when you told me that the pack of enchanted condoms I found in your trunk were Fred and Gorge's new Muggle Bubble-head charm." Ron turned beet red, while Hermione laughed heartily.

"Good Godric, that was _one time_!" he snapped, "How was I to know that they were going to leap on your head and try to suffocate you?"  
Hermione couldn't answer from choking with laughter.  
"It was a good thing that I'd managed to pull it off your head before you died," she managed to gasp, "who'd have thought that a packet of condoms could be more dangerous than Death Eaters?"

As they rounded off a corner, the Harry, Ron and Hermione gasped at the sight which awaited them.

"Well, well, well" drawled a man's very familiar, cold voice,

"I might have to take that back if I were you, _Mudblood_."

* * *

.

* * *


	2. The Unforeseen Battle

**Chapter Two:**

**The Unforeseen Battle**...

* * *

...

* * *

Lucius Malfoy stood with more than thirty Death Eaters behind him, leering unpleasantly.

It appeared that they had come out of the Room of Requirement.

"You didn't think I'd be locked up in prison forever, did you?" he sneered.

"Why, not?" demanded Harry, drawing his wand

"I thought you'd be the type to enjoy Dementors ravishing your behind whenever you've dropped the soap. I bet that's what you want Voldemort to do to you everyday! Suppose it comes with the lifetime of servitude," he added as an afterthought.

"Harry, that's a terrible thing to say!" said Hermione crossly. "Now they're going to get mad." But the corners of her lips twitched.

"Shut your face, Mudblood," snapped Bellatrix Lestrange, her dark hair rippling around her scaly face like black adders.  
"The only one here getting ravished is you, filthy blood scum."

"You shut your horrible mouth," snarled Ron.

The Death Eaters laughed. "You think you can tell _us_ what to do, Weasley?" cackled Malfoy. "While you're outnumbered ten to one?"

"But at least we're not stupid," Ron pointed out."How thick can you be to try to do Harry in when we're at a school full of wizards and witches, not to mention the staff and Aurors..."

"Bet we took you by surprise, then, eh?" said Mulciber evilly.

"Well, I'll be," said Harry turning to Hermione. "They actually _did _do something half-clever for a change, surprising me."

"No, no," she said smiling. "What abut that time in the ministry when they broke the prophecy?"

The three knew exactly what they were doing; they were stalling for time until help came.

"Yes," said Harry nodding soberly. "I suppose we'll have to give them credit for some of that. Although it was their leader's idea, to lure me there, not them…"

"Malfoy needs a bath," said Ron, wrinkling his long nose. "He's got that horrible goaty smell; could sniff the pong all the way from here..."

"What do you want anyway?" snapped Harry, putting his hands on his hips impatiently."Because I'm getting really sick of you lot turning up uninvited, gate-crashing my school—"

"We came for the Prophecy," said Malfoy silkily; with a hungry look in his eye. "We know that the Orb in the Ministry was a mere record of the real thing—"

Harry simply gaped. _How—?_

Another Death Eater suddenly arrived at the scene, banging his way from within the Room of Requirement.

"Ah, Severus," smirked Malfoy. "I see you've finally arrived, what took you so long?"

Severus Snape looked around the scene with black, hollowly eyes and spotted Harry, then Ron, then Hermione. He looked back angrily at Malfoy.

"The Dark Lord did not permit you to be here!" he hissed. "How _dare_ you disobey his orders!"  
He began to gobble like an enraged turkey, threatening the Death Eaters with the Dark Lord's apparently painful punishments for disobeying orders.

Harry, who was next to Hermione made an angry sound as he tried to force his way to Snape. She and Ron forced him back.

"Don't be stupid," whispered Ron. "We're outnumbered, let's just let the Order take care of this!"

"He killed Dumbledore," Harry growled. "_I'll kill him!_"

"Yes, yes, but later," said Hermione fervently. "Just wait!"

Harry let out a frustrated roar that made everyone in the entire vicinity jump in alarm

"_Hermione!_ How could you let him get away with what he did?! I'll murder him with my bare hands; throttle him with his own greasy hair; stab his eyeballs till goopy stuff comes oozing!"

"How poetic," she said sadly.

"Don't mind, him," said Ron nervously to her. "He's been a bit off lately since he ate Fleur and Bill's wedding cake. Stomach cramps"

"I didn't know boys had period pain," Hermione said confusedly, grabbing Harry by his cloak to prevent him from lunging out at Snape.

Ron rolled his eyes.

A spell whizzed past her ear.

"Hey!" she yelled, indignantly letting Harry go by mistake.

Harry charged at Snape like a heated bull and knocked him over.

"Let's see how you like to close _you're_ bloody mind, eh?!" he growled, punching Snape in the eye. "Try to teach me your Occlumency rubbish, when fists are just as quaint!"

He and Snape scrabbled around the flagstones like a couple of seven year olds, fists flailing and punching everything they made contact with.

The Death Eaters shouted, but before they could do anything, The Order of the Phoenix were charging along the corridor with a dozen ministry wizards, raining spells down at them.

"Relashio!" cried Mad-eye Moody and Harry felt himself being thrown back from a bleeding Snape.

"Get to safety!" he commanded roughly, pushing a limp Harry against the Room of Requirement door.  
"Stay with him, you two" he growled to Hermione and Ron.

They struggled to keep Harry from jumping after Snape who was deflecting every spell that came his way.

Hermione saw Tonks battling furiously with Bellatrix Lestrange who was cackling gleefully. "You'll be meeting the same sticky end as your dear cousin, Half-blood!" she cackled, shooting hex after hex.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was wrestling with Dolohov in the battle, managing to club him neatly on the head with his shoe.

The seventh floor corridor was immensely crowded, now with well over fifty wizards and witches brawling.

Hermione, Harry and Ron were trapped against the wall with nowhere to go.

A few times, spells grazed them, one nearly making Ron lose an eye.  
"Great Merlin!" he yelped.

"Watch yourself, Ron!" called Remus Lupin, running in front of them and deflecting a few stray hexes  
"Alright, you three?" he added, concerned, looking at Harry in particular, his light brown eyes searching.

"Professor," rasped Harry "_Snape…_"

"What!" he exclaimed angrily. "Snape? Where?" he spotted the hook-nosed, greasy haired man who was blacking jinxes fired from Dawlish and Shacklebolt nearly effortlessly.

Lupin narrowed his eyes, pulling his patched sleeves up to his elbows.  
"I'm on him," he said in a dangerously low voice and edged through the battle to meet him.

"**Expelliarmus!"** cried a voice wickedly.  
Hermione felt their wands shoot from her hand into a high arc and into the fray.

"Excellent!" growled Lucius Malfoy, advancing on them. "You'll pay for what you did to me and my son, Potter"

"I'm not subject to the mistreatment of your git of a son, Malfoy," snapped Harry insolently. "But I must tell you that molestation is against the Wizarding law, too, you know."

Malfoy's pale eyes turned pink as a blood vessel popped in fury.  
"Why you little—"he growled, drawing his wand.  
Hermione swung her foot at his groin—hard. He gave a grunt of pain and fell to the ground, shuddering.

"I'll get the wands!" she gasped.  
Before any of them could protest, Hermione fell to her knees and began to crawl between the legs of the duelers, unaware that a Stunning Spell had been shot at her best friends.

Hermione covered her head with her arms as a white-hot jet of light flew by. To her dismay, the Order was losing; most of them were lying on the ground, unconscious or otherwise.

She made her way through dozens of feet as quickly as she could. Just when she was a foot away from their wands, someone kicked them out of the way.

"Hello, my little beauty..." said an oily voice.

Hermione looked up into the pale, twisted face of Antonin Dolohov. He raised his wand and she knew at once that he was about to perform that same spell that nearly killed her two years ago.

Out of nowhere, Remus Lupin leapt onto him with a roar, knocking his wand out of his hand.

Hermione stared at her hero gratefully, but the impact of the tackle caused him to lose his wand.

Immediately, Bellatrix Lestrange loomed over Lupin, a sick, twisted smile curving her think mouth

"_Crucio!_" she cackled.

To her horror, he began to yell in pain his knees drawn to his chest, trembling, jerking…

"No!" screamed Tonks, rushing over, her mousy-hair covered in streaming blood from her wound.

Hermione tried to get up to help but someone grabbed her out of the way and flung her into to the wall roughly.

Two masked Death Eaters seized Tonks each by an arm, disarming her as they shoved her on the ground next to Lupin.

"Until death do them apart," cackled Dolohov, raising his own wand

"_Crucio_!"

The air was filled with screams and yells from Tonks and Lupin. Hermione looked around frantically in horror. There were no members of the Order or from the Ministry left to help them. Harry and Ron were completely Stunned, lying unconscious on the ground by the door. She was alone. Hermione looked back in terror at the tortured couple writhing in pain.

"No!" she cried weakly staring at Tonks' paling face, struggling from Mulciber's grasp. "Let me go! Please, they're my friends…."

But her captor merely guffawed and kept hold of her tightly.

"That's enough!" snapped Malfoy, hurrying over to the Death Eaters.

"You're quite right," said Bellatrix, a horrible leer distortion her face.

"I agree," nodded Dolohov, with his twisted smile.

Together, they raised their wands in unison to Tonks and Remus' hearts.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

A whooshing sound and a blast of green light illuminated the corridor.

The next moment, two lifeless forms lay on the ground, their eyes still wide open.  
On Tonks' limp left ring finger glinted a small golden band.

"No!" shrieked Hermione, sobbing weakly against her captor's arms. The woman who had been her friend and confidant for years, the man who was the teacher who had taught her more than from books, about life, trust, friendship, courage…

She could feel Mulciber's round gut rumble as he laughed.  
"You're next, sweetheart" he growled, shoving his wand at her throat.

"NO!" roared a voice.

There was a flash of light and she was released from his grip. Another jet of light burst through the hall and her best friends became relinquished from their immobility.

Hermione hurried to Harry and Ron, who had the full use of their bodies again.

Severus Snape stood with his backs to them with an arm outstretched protectively, the other pointing a wand directly at his Death Eaters.

"What are you doing, Snape?" demanded Malfoy. All of the Death Eaters lowered their wands as they watched Voldemort's most honored supporter.

"Potter and his friends belong to the Dark Lord," he hissed. "You are already at his mercy for betraying his order. I am saving your necks from imminent death."

There was a collective shudder from the group of men. Hermione felt Harry's hand tighten on hers.

"You will leave this school immediately—" Snape continued in a hiss. They noticed that there was merely fourteen Death Eaters left standing; the rest were unconscious.

"The Dark Lord does not take pleasure in murdering school children."

"Says 'hoo?" demanded Lestrange.  
Snape made a snarling noise, grabbed something in his pocket and threw it at them.

Immediately, the room was plunged in complete darkness.

"Fred and George's Darkness powder!" gasped Ron. "What's he playing at?"

Before any of them could say another word, a pair of strong arms grabbed them and pushed them deep into the darkened Room of Requirement.

Through the fog, Harry could just make out Snape's bloodied face. He wasn't wearing his usual sneer or look of loathing directed to Harry. His black eyes were full of dark apprehension and fear.  
He crouched down until his gaze bore into Harry's.

"Harry, listen to me," Snape said urgently in a low voice, his eyes flicking to each of Harry's green ones.  
"The dark side is growing strong—too strong. By the time you find the Dark Lord's secrets I'm afraid it may be all too late. This is the only way—"

"—Snape's betrayed us!" screamed Bellatrix's voice from beyond the fog  
"I knew he was a rot bag from the very start!"

"—this is the only way," repeated Snape in a whisper. "You will understand some day…you will understand...I believe this belongs to you," he added quietly, reaching into his robes and procured three wands, handing them over to Harry.

With a swish of his billowing black robes, Snape strode back to the door. Harry didn't know what to think; was this some sort of twisted trick? He raised all three wands to Snape's head but Hermione caught his sleeve, her eyes wide as though she had understood something profound.  
"Harry, don't!" she whispered.  
Harry finally relented and she quietly took her own wand back from his limp fingers.

Snape walked back through the door. Before he crossed its threshold their old potions master turned his head slightly and added in a low voice

"Good Luck, Harry…your," he hesitated. "…James would've been very proud of you." He walked out the door and spun back.

"**_Emundae Reticulum_!**" he bellowed. A jet of violet light shot out through his wand. Immediately the room began spinning, gathering momentum by the each second.

Harry simply gaped as Snape lowered his wand, turned his back to them and allowed a collective blast of green light to be shot at him squarely in the chest by the Death Eaters whom he had been in league with.

They saw Severus Snape's towering black form falling before the Room of Requirement banged shut, sealing his final incantation.

Through the fast spinning of the Room, Harry heard shouts of rage from the Death Eaters on the other side and frightened gasps from Ron and Hermione.

They were in some sort of a blindingly fast centrifuge, with different bursts of light dazzling their eyes. Harry saw a few alarm clocks floating in mid air…

**Tick—tock, tick—tock ,tick… tick… tick… tick…**

A grandfather clock floated around them and he heard Hermione scream when it let out a gigantic gong. It floated through the air at an alarming speed, flying past Harry, clipping him on the back of the head.

The last thing he heard was the loud chiming of the grandfather clock as it reached its twelfth booming chime...


	3. Meet me, Lord Voldemort, at your sevice

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**Meet me, Lord Voldemort, at your Service...**

* * *

...

* * *

The whooshing beam of spiraling white light stopped as Hermione, Harry and Ron were violently shoved out of the door by a powerful force.

"Oof!" grunted Ron when they fell face-first onto the cold flagstones.  
Hermione grumbled something and removed a great deal of her own bushy hair from her mouth.  
"Eurgh!" she complained.

They got to their feet, brushing off their robes and stared around.  
"Where did all the Death Eaters and Order go?" wondered Ron. "Where did Lupin and Tonks get off to? I remember them running towards the crowd before some git shot a spell at me".

Hermione choked back a tiny sob. For a moment she was going to tell Ron about the deaths of Tonks and Remus Lupin, but instead she bit her lip, holding back tears. She couldn't bring herself to voice the terrible truth. Not while she was trying to come to terms with it herself…

Instead, Hermione furrowed her delicate walnut brown brows in a frown and concentrated hard on the opposite wall. With her eyes refocused, she spotted the painting of Barnabas the Barmy.

"No, no," she said quietly. "We're still at school, so they'll still be here… somewhere."

Ron listened hard. "Everything sounds pretty quiet, maybe they've gone home."

She gave him a very dubious look. "I don't think they'd skip home after three-thirty, Ron. Anyway, this is a boarding school."  
Hermione moved towards the painting and tripped over something solid and breathing on the floor.

"Harry!" she squealed, crouching with her face on the ground next to his unruly jet-black hair. Harry wasn't moving; there was a trickle of blood oozing from his head.

"Hermione," gasped Ron, falling to his knees before her.  
Hermione felt her mouth fall open. He couldn't _possibly_ be propos—

"No, I am not going to propose!" Ron snapped. "We'll have to get him some help. Let me check for his pulse!"

"There's no need," Hermione retorted waspishly. "He's snoring like a buffalo."

Ron's face went pink.

"Still," he glowered, placing his hands on his hips, "you must get him some help before his blood's going to flood the seventh floor and then he'll be _dead_. You can't let the _Chosen One_ die, Hermione, what kind of friend would you be?"

She could've kicked him in the face right now.

"Very well, Ron," she said crossly, "I shall run and fetch a teacher."  
Hermione stood up and hurried to a nearby staircase and clattered down as fast as she could, trying to find someone.

"Make sure you run real fast, Hermione!" called Ron. "Because The Boy Who Lived mightn't make it to his senior prom if you don't"

* * *

Hermione scuttled down to the sixth floor corridor, searching for any sign of life—or death, she honestly didn't mind running into ghosts at this particular time.

She darted through the glittering Trophy Room to use the ingenious shortcut that they had accidentally discovered during their first year.

Hermione caught sight of a shiny object in the middle of the room that made her stop.  
The House cup.  
But instead of being decorated in crimson and gold in honor of Gryffindor's spectacular performance (despite not being given to them by ceremony owing to the very grim ending to last year) it was completely garnished in silver and _green. _

"That's not right!" Hermione fumed in outrage. Below the glittering cup read a little caption:

_**'**Most estimably presented to Slytherin House for their consistent academic accomplishments, perpetuation of formal rules and the commendable performance of the Slytherin Quidditch team which saw victory for the seventh consecutive year**"**_

Hermione felt her indignation grow threefold  
"Ginny won that House cup last year!" she blustered. But something else on the House Cup caught her eye.  
It read "1944 House Championship".

She must be seeing things. Hermione blinked very hard several times, pinched herself on the arm and even slapped herself. No, it was still there, engraved on the golden cup, leering at her face.

"Drat," she muttered."I must be going quite blind".

But…Hermione thought, her mind reeling, what if that Room had something to do with this mistake? Her eyes widened in disbelief then transcended to delight.  
She checked the year again.

It still read 1944.

_This means…_

"Dumbledore!" she whispered in ecstasy, unable to force her eyeballs back into a normal size. Dumbledore was still alive!

Hitching up her long school robes, Hermione gleefully dashed out of the Trophy room, hurtling through a tapestry and hurried downstairs, this time taking three steps at a time.

Hermione practically bolted along the corridors in full speed (well, she wasn't _that_ fast, but it's the fastest she's ever run….) until she paused in front of the ugly gargoyle.

"Tee-hee," she giggled. "Just like Pansy Parkinson."

She then wiped her face to absolute seriousness

"Sherbet Lemon," she said in a commanding voice. It didn't move.

"Alright then," she said, breathing fast. "Sugar Quill…er, Fizzing Wizzbees, Tooth-flossing String mints, ah, Chocolate Frogs? Hmm, Bertie Bott's Every-flavored beans, no? Erm, Mars Bars, Jolly Ranchers, Acid Pops?" she added tentatively.

It didn't move.

She heaved a great heavy sigh, slumping against the Headmaster's office door.  
Wait a minute…perhaps Dumbledore would be in the staff room with the other teachers!

Seized with a burst of renewed energy, Hermione tore along the long corridor to get to that hideous, dingy staff-room full of moldy mismatched chairs and Godric-knows-what else was hiding in the closet.

When she rounded a particularly sharp bend, Hermione collided with something very solid and very hard.  
Hermione heard a sickening crack from her nose and bounced back from the impact of the collision, hitting the floor with a resounding thump.

"Damn you, Newton!" she cursed, blindly feeling her nose; it was bleeding profusely.

"Do take care to watch where you are going" a deep, cold male voice from above snapped.

Hermione blinked and stared at a black robed figure's legs, then let her eyes travel slowly, up, and up…

...Into the glowering face of the handsomest boy she had ever seen.

His tall, dark demeanor alluded to her the image of a shadowy dark knight, banished from the kingdom for his unruly rogue ways. He was the incarnation of masculine strength, possessing the daunting height and size in conformity with the controlled power he seemed to hold from his surroundings. Dark hair that looked like it had the tendency to curl fell into his frosty grey eyes, framed by thick dark lashes that seemed to dare one to take a closer look. Those eyes were now watching her in the most curiously dark manner.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "You're not from around here," he said slowly, his voice low.

This broke Hermione away from her wandering thoughts. Darn, suddenly the pain that had momentarily faded from her distraction had come back in full force.

Also, she suddenly digested that this dark knight was being abominably rude.

Hermione pinched her nose and furiously got to her feet; it didn't make much of a difference; he was at least a head taller than her, standing at six feet three.  
"Thad'st right!" she snapped. "And I'll thadnk _you_ to not wadch where _you're_ goedwing! How _dare _you speadk to me thad way!"

Something like cold bemusement flickered in his eyes and surveyed her in a curious way before inquiring in a surprisingly polite voice.

"I beg your pardon, miss," he said in a softer, quieter voice. "Here, allow me…"

He drew his wand, and in the next second, Hermione felt her nose stop running and all the blood had been dried off completely. She touched it gingerly; it felt quite pert and normal to her.

Looking back at him, she realized that a Head Boy badge was gleaming off his dark robes. She suddenly felt a little mortified at the way she had addressed a Head Prefect. She reasoned that the best way to be rid of the nasty feeling was to run away and hide in a closet.

"Er..." Hermione said, looking back up at him through her bright brown eyes. "Thanks... well, I'm off…"

The shadowy Head Boy merely gazed haughtily back. "And where, pray tell, are you going to go?" he asked with a slither of frostiness.  
"You're new here, aren't you" he added shrewdly.

"I'm going to go find some help in the staffroom," she said crossly, "and I am new here, in a manner of speaking, thank you very much."

"There's nobody in the staffroom," he said. "And welcome to Hogwarts," he added coldly.

"Well, I'll just have to wait until there is," Hermione snapped, eyeing him with great dislike  
"Now, if you will _excuse me_," she said, her voice dripping in venom. "I'm off to save two people; one from death and the other from stupidity"

She walked around him in dignity and began her journey to the empty staffroom.

"Just a moment," he said coldly. "If you are looking for a teacher, then this one might satiate your mode of heroism"

He placed two elegant long-fingered hands on Hermione's shoulders and steered her along the corridor to a different set of stairs, much to her indignation.

After a moment or two, Hermione relaxed against his dictatorship for she supposed that he was only truly trying to be of assistance. She could always jinx him later.  
Besides, it wasn't so bad to be in the company of a particularly spiffing young man.

"So, where are we going?" she said conversationally, when he led her down a shortcut of some sort on the third floor.

"To see Dumbledore," he said dispassionately. "Professor Dippet is on a school board meeting and Dumbledore is Deputy Headmaster."

"Ohhh" she said nodding. Of course he had to be Deputy Headmaster.  
"But why are we going through here?"

"This is the Transfiguration department," he said calmly, "and he's the Transfiguration teacher"

Hermione felt a jolt of surprise. She'd forgotten…

At the door of the classroom, he released her and leaned close to the door, listening. Hermione felt slightly disappointed when he had done so; she was beginning to quite enjoy his company.

He beckoned her forward; he had an air of great authority, it seemed.

"Dumbledore's teaching at the moment," he said quietly. "It would be about another half hour or so before class finishes. Was there a particular reason you wanted to see a teacher?"

"Not any" Hermione said quickly "just him."

"Why?" he asked curiously narrowing his eyes slightly.

She shrugged "I like the sound of him, I suppose," she invented. "He sounds like a grand teacher from what you've described."

"Well, I doubt you'll want to stand here for the next thirty minutes, so I suggest you go to the library to wait."

They walked along the corridor in silence, past the stone arches and ancient marbled columns surrounding the vast walkway to the classrooms where the knowledge of the noble art of magic has been passed on to its descendants for thousands of years.

Near the front of the library, he glanced at her.

She was really quite a fetching thing. The term 'pretty' didn't suit her, not even cute, she was what he would have described as _lovely_, with huge sparking toffee brown eyes, long unkempt sepia curls and the most luscious, rosy full lips he had ever seen.

But the most compelling thing about her was the way she held herself; utterly composed, confident and dignified, despite having her nose broken when she ran into him.

"I...um..." the girl looked up at him apprehensively. "I just wanted to-to thank you for your assistance."

He nodded carelessly.  
"Being Head Boy requires these sorts of things once in a while," he said evenly, "I was merely doing my job."

She nodded as well.

For a moment they kept nodding at each other

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, her bright brown eyes betraying horror. "My friends—they're upstairs on the seventh floor and one of them is hurt!"

How could she be so stupid? Poor Harry was most probably oozing across the seventh floor and here she was nodding with this stranger! She looked helplessly at the handsome Head Boy.

"Lead the way," he said shortly, and they both walked very quickly up along another set of corridors. Once or twice, he led her through a series of shortcuts, which she never knew existed.

Upon the fifth landing, Hermione felt something constrict her lungs and felt her legs moving at a strained pace. Her dark knight seemed to have noticed, because he slowed down to a halt.

"Are you alright there?" he said, looking at Hermione, whose eyes were tearing with the exertion of her overworked muscles.

"Erm," she said, frowning deeply, clutching her side. "I don't think so… not really, can't… breathe properly". The last words came out muffled as she doubled over, clutching an arm to her chest.

The room was beginning to swim and Hermione began to feel ill.  
_Damn you, Granger_, she chided silently, _Look what time traveling does to you on an empty stomach!_

A minute later, Hermione straightened up, much to the protest of her aching lungs.  
"No, I think I can hold on, for a bit," she declared, trying to inject a note of buoyancy into her shaking voice.

An ironic smile curved on his lips, "Well, if you're sure…" he murmured.

She offered him a small smile in return. "Thank you for waiting, you really needn't"

He nodded once before walking away.

"Oh wait!" Hermione said, tilting her noggin to the side, "I don't believe we've introduced ourselves. I'm Herm—er…"  
She stopped, trying to come up with a name that wasn't her own. She just didn't think it was very prudent to use one's name in a completely different time. She felt that using her real name made her feel quite vulnerable. She didn't know why.

Her dark knight arched a supercilious brow over his shoulder. "You've forgotten your name?"

"No!" she said indignantly, coloring. "My name is, er— Jane" she lamented dully.

"Jane?" he repeated softly, looking at her. Jane did not suit this girl. It was too, plain, too dull. But what did he care about someone else's name when he disliked his own?

"Very well, er, Jane," he murmured, his aloofness back in place, "It was a pleasure meeting you."

He renewed his walking.

"Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" she called after him. "Or shall I simply call you John Smith or Mr. Blank?"

She thought fondly of that term being used in her favorite cartoon.

He wheeled around.

"Well, begging your pardon, Jane," he said, with a hint of an ironic smile as he executed a mocking bow.  
"Meet me, Head Boy of Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"—and your name?" she prompted.

He gave her a sour look.

"Tom Riddle."

Hermione let out a gasp and precariously swayed for half a second before fainting dead away.

Tom Riddle dove and caught her before she fell over the banister, muttering an oath under his breath.

"Merciful Slytherin," he cursed, carrying a wilted Jane Granger in his arms towards the Hospital wing,  
"Didn't think this horrible name would be vulgar enough to _kill_ someone."

There she lay, snuggled in his chest, completely limp and ashen.

Maybe I should have introduced myself as Lord Voldemort, he mused.

And if she had passed out at the mere mention of his Muggle name, Tom smirked as he wondered how she would react to

"_Meet me, Lord Voldemort, at your service …_"

* * *


	4. Albus to no Avail

**Chapter 4:**

**Albus to no Avail**

* * *

...

* * *

Hermione's eyes fluttered open to a bright, upside down ruby red sunset.  
"What deduce?" she mumbled, closing her eyes again, rolling her head forward from her flat pillow.

A muffled sound forced Hermione to look over to her left at a familiar freckled faced boy.

"Hello, there, ex-girlfriend!" Ron greeted her pleasantly. "We tried to wake you up for ages. Merlin, you sleep like the dead!"

Hermione frowned and looked behind him, trying to determine where one earth she was. There were spotlessly clean off-white walls, with numerous large portraits of old witches and wizards, lit by dim torches at the edge of the stained-glass panels of the large arched windows. And on the clean, white marble tiles were about twenty, white linen beds.

"Ah, of course," Hermione muttered. "I'm in the Hospital Wing, _again_."

Hermione wasn't surprised to find herself in a warm, slightly hard infirmary bed, seeing as though she recalled vaguely of fainting. However, she was surprised to find a very tall man wearing sweeping violet star-spangled robes, matching wizard's hat, golden half moon glasses, and an expression of gentle curiosity behind his long auburn hair and beard from the door.

"P—Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione asked weakly. Ron gaped, goggling at this younger version of their old Headmaster.

"Trendy hat, sir," he joked.

Hermione groaned loudly at Ron's stupidity.  
"Don't mind, him," she said quickly. "Ron's had his head in contraception tools for far too many times that's good for his brain."

Ron reddened. "Sorry, Professor Dumbledore" he said sheepishly. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Not to worry, Mr. Ron," he beamed. "But I do hope that all of you are feeling much better since this morning?"

"Morning?" echoed Hermione. "How long have I been out for?"

"Precisely seven hours," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eyes

"Oh Dear," said Hermione, embarrassed.

Ron snorted "Hermione, you seriously need to get your sinuses checked. You snore like an angry swarm of bees"

Hermione's eyes widened in shock and opened her mouth to retort angrily.

But Dumbledore quickly intervened.

"Ah, you must be the young Miss that Mr. Riddle has told me about," he said pleasantly. "He mentioned that you requested an urgent meeting with me. To what purpose do I owe you this pleasure?" He gave her a characteristically calm light blue scan and Hermione felt like she was being X-rayed.

With Ron's cheek, Hermione ignored the poonce and fully sat up in her bed.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," she said seriously. "My name is Hermione Granger. And that thing" she pointed a slender finger at the red haired, be-freckled boy, "is Ronald Weasley, and-"

"I'm Harry Potter!" said a happy voice that startled Hermione on the far left bed next to Ron.

"Yes," nodded Hermione, recovering from her shock. She turned back to Dumbledore. "Sir, there seems to be something really wrong that's happened to us."

Dumbledore sat down on the end of Hermione's bed and nodded, encouraging her to go on.

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes, the impact of the disaster from being forced into a time limbo seemed to have amplified to a million times now that she had taken a moment to think.

"…And, we've ended up in your time," she cried, "and I don't know how to get us back!" she put her hands over her face and sobbed.

Harry quickly leaped over Ron's bed and hurried towards Hermione, putting an arm over her shoulder  
"Don't be silly, Hermy-wormy," he said firmly. "If there's a way of getting us back here, I'm positive that there's a way to get us back."

"I'm, sure that young Mr. Potter is right," said Dumbledore gently. It surprised all three of them that the professor had accepted their story without question and was grateful for it. "Though seemingly, this is by far one of the most abnormal dilemmas that I have come across."

The three nodded gravely. Ron shook his head. "This is by far the worst day I've ever had" he said. "It nearly beats that time I walked in on Fleur and Bill on their honeymoon night at the Burrow."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful, he got off the bed and began to pace around the Hospital Wing, apparently thinking hard. Harry, Ron and Hermione all watched him curiously. After several minutes, Harry cleared his throat.

This broke Dumbledore out of his reverie. "My apologies, Mr. Potter," he smiled.

Harry shifted uncomfortably

"Er, sir," he said awkwardly, "sorry, but could you please just call me Harry? You never used to call me Mr. Potter in my time..."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Of course then, Harry. But If I may ask you," he came over and sat beside the bed on a mahogany chair. "And this might help- how long is the time distance between your time and this time?"

Ron looked dumbfounded and Harry squinted. Both of them gawked at Hermione who was clearly more apt to second grade mathematics.

"If I'm not mistaken," she said slowly. "If last year's house cup said that the year was 1944, then obviously, _this_ year is 1945. So I'd say that we were a good fifty two years apart."

"What?!" spluttered Ron, paling. "Are you saying that we've just fallen backwards in time for _fifty two years?!"_

Hermione nodded grimly. "This means of course, that our parents haven't even existed, so we're as good as orphans, right now."

"I'm already an orphan, no thanks to snake-boy," grumbled Harry. "Now you all know how it feels, ha-ha."

"I think the bump on the head may have deranged him a bit," said Ron in undertone.

"Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione quickly. "Is there any way that you could help us to return to our time?"

Their former headmaster looked pensive again.

Dumbledore put the tips of his fingers and leaned closer, slightly

"Tell me," he said kindly. "Do you remember how this event occurred? I mean to say, do you remember if it was a potion that you took or an accident with a Time Turner, or perhaps, a certain spell used on the three of you?"

Harry nodded; this question triggered his memory as though it was a light switch.

"I remember it now," he said. "It was some sort of a spell that Snape used on us that blasted us backwards through the Room of Requirement."

"That's right!" said Ron. "The Death Eaters were with him trying to do us in which was apparently against You-Know Who's orders. And the members of the guard from the Order were trying to help us!"

Harry also remembered something else very crucial. "Snape died after sending us through the Room of Requirement," he said. "He said some kind of spell before he got hit by a killing curse from the lot of them. He wished us luck before he died, telling me that my father would have been proud."

"What a weird thing to say," said Ron, nonplussed. "So he thinks being blasted through a room was what your Dad wanted you to do when you grow up?"

There was a deathly silence.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, delicately.

"Begging your pardon, Harry, Ron and Hermione," he said, gently. "But I have to admit that I am very lost in your story. Who was Snape, Death Eaters, an Order and a You-Know-Who?"

Harry fought snigger and accidentally let out a fart. "That's what I think of You-Know-Whos," he said gravely.

Hermione and Ron edged away from him as the stank waft around them. Dumbledore and gave an open mouth smile, which Hermione suspected that he was simply breathing through his mouth.

Of course! She thought, all must have sounded immensely peculiar to someone who has never heard of Voldemort and Dumbledore's Order.

She opened her mouth to explain, but a thought struck her, making her stop.

Ron saw the look on her face, changing to worry.

"Professor," he said, "d'you reckon we could affect the future by telling you about what happens?"

Professor Dumbledore nodded gravely "I do suppose you could change it," he said wisely. "However, in these special circumstances, I suggest what you _could_ do is tell me what happened in your time, the distant future. I could be wrong, but I do not think that imparting on me a limited portion would have much of an impact if I do not _intend_ on purposely changing it."

"Great!" said Harry enthusiastically, who loved to tell stories. "Well, where should we start?"

"I think telling him about Voldemort would be a good start," said Hermione acidly.

"Oh yeah." Ron flinched at the name and looked at Harry.

Harry looked into Dumbledore's familiar blue eyes. "In our time, both the Muggle world and our world are living dark times," he recited, trying to look very serious. "This is because of the reign of a Dark Wizard, possibly the darkest known to mankind."

Dumbledore nodded. "And what was his name" he asked quietly.

Hermione swallowed. "He called himself Lord Voldemort."

"But nearly everyone was terrified of calling him that," said Ron after cringing at the name. "He was gaining power from the Dark side and gathered a whole lot of supporters. It was awful, the things he and his followers—the closest to him called the Death Eaters, murdered muggles and wizarding families. They used the Unforgivable curses on people in order to blackmail them or bewitch them into following You-know-who."

"And that was the reason why people called him You-know-who?" inquired Dumbledore, peering at Ron through his half moon glasses.

"Yeah," replied Ron, who looked white. "People were afraid because of all the things he did and were capable of. He recruited Dark creatures onto his side; werewolves, giants, Dementors, all of them."

"But one night, one of his spies caught wind of a prophecy made by a Seer, about how You-know-who would one day meet his match and must kill him… for none can live while the other survives and told him," she added.

"So he went after the baby's family and murdered his parents and tried to kill the Chosen Boy…but he couldn't" said Ron, pausing dramatically. "The killing curse backfired, rebounding on You-know-who, himself," he paused for effect again.

"Did the boy survive?" asked Dumbledore, curiously.

"Course he did," said Ron. "He's sitting right there, beefing all over the place." He waved a hand at Harry who remained quite still, despite the growing odor he couldn't quite control. Harry blinked had and looked away; he knew that they were all watching him now.

"So," continued Ron. "Harry was alive with nothing left but a cursed scar that twinged every now and then during his first year at Hogwarts…"

Harry and Hermione both spaced out, they've lapsed into their own thoughts. Hermione wondered nervously if it was possible to tell the professor sitting next to her bed that he had died by the hands of a colleague who worked as a double agent for several years. That he fooled Dumbledore into thinking that he was on their side and was trustworthy.

"So," said Dumbledore, finally, after listening politely to Ron's ramblings. "You said that Professor Snape cast a spell on you three before you fell through the Room of Requirement which acted as a time portal. Correct?"

The three nodded earnestly.

"And you've now traveled back 52 years from your own time?"

More nods.

Dumbledore sighed the tiniest of sighs. Grimly he said, "There are numerous ways to get you back to your own time, we can be sure of that…"

"But?" asked Ron nervously.

"However," continued Dumbledore. "Given that you have traveled back in time for more than half a century, it is simply unwise to experiment ways to get you back with the known charms and potions available in wizardry."

"Er, why not?" asked Harry. He thought that at least they could give whatever that could help them get back to the future a shot. Really, he thought, what was there to lose? I mean, aside from his bladder and stuff…

But Dumbledore smiled knowingly at Harry as though he had read his mind

"But given such an extended gap between the time frames," he said. "It will prove to be extremely dangerous. Wizards who have meddled with time and traveled back in many years have splinched themselves trying to get back to their own time."

"Eugh" said Hermione softly, revolted.

Dumbledore nodded gravely

"There have been many cases involving severed arms and legs being spread out over numerous time frames."

"We can see why we can't be in much of a hurry to get back," said Harry, holding his bladder protectively.

"But sir," he looked quickly at the man who would grow up to become his friend and mentor—and a talking painting. "We can't stay here forever. Me, Ron and Hermione are in a war back at home and the whole Wizarding community is practically holding me responsible for Voldemort's demise. I can't stay here!"

"I can understand your difficulty," said Dumbledore gently. "But what we need is a little time and patience to find a suitable method for getting you three back before you could do something that may alter the future."

"We understand, Professor," said Hermione, quickly. "But where do you suppose we stay for the time being? Hogsmeade?" she suggested. Ron and Harry nodded approvingly.

Dumbledore beamed. "Heavens, no!" he said cheerfully.  
"You will be guests at Hogwarts for the time being. I shall notify Professor Dippet about your distress, I am sure that he will be more than delighted to have new students at our school seeing as past events have caused a sudden decrease in enrolments."

Harry, Hermione and Ron exchanged dark looks. They both knew that Dumbledore was referring to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets.

"And so," said Dumbledore briskly. "Now that you will be staying at Hogwarts, shall I fetch the Sorting Hat to put you back in your old houses?"

Harry quickly shook his head. The last thing he needed was to be told by a smelly, ugly hat that he should be placed in Slytherin house again.  
Really, enough was enough.

"Sir," he said earnestly. "We've all been sorted into Gryffindor in our first year, so I don't really think it's necessary."

"Hermione and I are also Head Girl and Boy," added Ron. Harry gaped at him. Why hadn't he noticed the shiny Head Boy badge glinting on his friend's robes when he first saw them? Sure, Harry always thought that Hermione, being the best witch of their year would sure be receiving the badge. But _Ron_?  
_  
_Yeesh…

Finding his voice again, Harry added, "And I left school after my sixth year for trying to track down some important artifacts that would enable Voldemort's downfall," he said, feeling quite aware that he sounded a bit melodramatic.

Dumbledore gave him a small smile and a wink. "Nobility comes before academics, Harry" he said. "Very wise" and Harry giggled.

Dumbledore looked at Hermione next. "Miss Granger" he said pleasantly, "Given that this year's Ravenclaw Head Girl moved to Cacklebilly Grammar School for Young Witches last week owing to particularly coarse circumstances…"

Hermione heart raced. Was she about to become…

"And since you were Head Girl during your own time," he continued, his eyes twinkling. "How would you like to replace Miss Bettington until we can help you return to your own time? Think of it as a small constellation prize for instant return to home."

Hermione's brow shot up at his odd choice of words but beamed nevertheless.  
"Of course, sir!" she said happily. So what if she got the job by default? Head Girl was Head Girl. What more could she ask for?

"You'll be staying in the Heads' dormitory," he smiled. "And share the common room and bathroom with your colleague, of course"

"Will Ron be my colleague?" blurted Hermione, looking quickly at Ron.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly  
"Unfortunately," he said soberly, "that position has already been filled."

"Who?" demanded Hermione, secretly plotting to throttle who ever took Ron's position.

"I believe you've met him before as he was the gentleman who brought you here," said Dumbledore genially.

"Tom Riddle from Slytherin"

Hermione gasped, remembering that Voldemort had been the very first person whom she had met since her arrival. And how she thought him to be so helpful and, her stomach did a tumble, so startlingly handsome…

…a dark knight, indeed.

Harry, who had started to drink a glass of water from Hermione's bedside table inhaled half of the contents in the glass and sprayed it all over the poor girl.

"Harry!" she protested, shoving him as far as possible.

Dumbledore looked concerned. "Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" he asked.

Soaking wet Hermione said hurriedly, "Sir, I don't think it's a good idea for me or anybody else to be sharing a Common room with—Mr. Riddle," she had fought hard not to say the words, 'horrible, twisted mass murderer who had one of his goons kill you'.

"Hermione," said Harry, whom was on the ground having being pushed off the bed. "We should just tell him"

Hermione bit her lip and looked at Ron, who nodded in agreement. So much for trying not to alter the future by blabbering to people, she thought mutinously.

"Fine!" she snapped.

Standing up from the bed, she paced around. "Professor" she said, "Lord Voldemort, the man Ron's just told you about is currently attending Hogwarts"

"The evil, twisted git who destroyed families and lives," added Ron, angrily. "The one who brutally murdered our friends, Harry's parents, his godfather and won't stop at anything until he finally murders Harry, too."

There was a silence. Dumbledore cleared his throat again. "So Lord Voldemort (Ron shuddered) is in fact Mr. Tom Riddle who is currently Head Boy?" he said slowly and deliberately.

"Yeah, and you should watch out for him trying to open the Cham—" muttered Harry.

At that point, a frail old wizard came tottering in.

"Ah, there you are!" Professor Dippet cried in a feeble old voice looking at Dumbledore  
"I've been looking all over for you. The school board is at it again, demanding at us to do something for good international publicity, you know. Just wondering what your views are, Albus." He paused at stared at Hermione, Harry and Ron.  
Dippet then smiled, rather kindly.  
"I say," he said happily, "new students? How positively _delightful!_"

The old wizard glanced at the Head Girl badge pinned on Hermione's robe who was sitting nearest to Dumbledore.

"I say, it already seems that you have been made a Head Girl from a previous school?" he queried in his feeble voice. "It's just as well. We need one too, has Albus told you? You could replace Miss Laura Bettington provided that you have references from your old school, of course."

Hermione gulped, wishing that she could summon her brilliant school files from 52 years in the future and change the dates in three seconds flat.

However, Dumbledore smiled blandly and took out a piece of parchment from his robes while Dippet was not watching and waved it over once with his wand.

"I think you will find all necessary references here, Armando," he smiled.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all watched as Dippet's eyes glazed over as he surveyed the parchment.

"That seems to be in order," he finally said, handing the blank parchment back to Dumbledore and shaking their hands each in turn. "Welcome to Hogwarts! I trust that the new Head Girl will be most comfortable in the Head dorms with Master Riddle?"

"Actually, sir," said Hermione hastily, relieved that Dumbledore's charm fooled the Headmaster. "I couldn't possibly stay in the Head's dorms, I was wondering if I can stay in Gryffindor tower with my friends …Besides" she paused "I would never want to invade Mr. Riddle's privacy by sharing a dorm with him."

Dippet raised a hand impatiently. "Nonsense" he said airily. "Mr. Riddle is a delightful young man who would be more than happy to give you a tour of the castle and its grounds. Furthermore, as Head Girl, you will have to work with him continuously so I think it is good for the pair of you to become well acquainted."

"But…"

"No buts," interjected Dippet. "As Head Girl, it is a vital that you understand how to work as a team. I hope to see you during dinner. A pleasure meeting you all, good day!" He nodded at Dumbledore and walked swiftly out.

"Bloke didn't even ask for our names," muttered Ron.

Dumbledore smiled. "Mr. Weasley, I think you have just mentioned a very important point," he said and beckoned the three to move in closer. "It is in my opinion that yourself, Miss Granger and Harry should not use your real names, given that your ancestors are currently attending this school so it would be unwise."

Harry looked delighted. "I have relatives here?" he asked, clasping his hands together. Dumbledore placed the tips of his fingers together and stared out the window, which was turning into a deep, blood red sunset.  
Ron's stomach growled suddenly. "Harry hurry up and think of a name already!" he yelled "I'm going to throw up if I don't eat anything."

"Er," said Harry. "Well, if I'm not allowed to use my real name, then can I call myself Barry Trotter?" Ron snorted and Hermione laughed.

Dumbledore nodded. "That's a reasonable name, Miss Granger?"

Hermione frowned. "Sir, I'm sure that none of my relatives attend Hogwarts since I'm a muggleborn. Is it all right if I just keep my own name?"

"As you wish," he replied

"But I want to change my _first_ name," she added quickly. "So I don't get called Hermsicle or Hermy-wormy or…"

She trailed off before saying decidedly

"I'm going to call myself Jane."  
After all, hadn't she already told Lord Voldemort that was her name?

"Plain Jane," said Harry in a singsong voice and she kicked him.

"Mr. Weasley?" prompted Dumbledore.

Ron looked stumped for a choice of names. "How about…Gary Wild?" Harry giggled. "That makes you sound like a gigolo."

"Fine, Brendan Higgs?"

"No, it doesn't suit you."

"Carl Flattery?"

"Now, you're just not trying."

"Gene Chester?"

"You fairy."

Hermione's patience was beginning to wear very thin. "Just hurry up already!" she raged, feeling her own stomach ache with hunger.

"Alright!" snapped Ron "Severus Snape!"

There was a slight pause before all of them roared with laughter, except Dumbledore who didn't quite get the joke.

"It's a winner then," said Ron, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Good!" beamed Dumbledore, rising from his chair. "I suppose it would be a lot faster if all of you go straight for dinner, it must be starting. Come along, then."

Hermione, Harry and Ron rose from their beds and followed Dumbledore as though he were the Pied Piper, though they weren't lured by a magical flute, it was more like the intoxicating aroma of sausages, roast chicken and pastry, filling the entire corridors.

* * *

...

* * *


	5. The Dreaded Sorting

Author's notes:

_Author's notes:_

_I forgot to tell you; these characters don't belong to me. They belong to the fabulously talented Ms. Rowling!_

_Enjoy the silly adventure—I'll leave clues to what the title means in the later chapters. I know it starts a little frivolous, but I hope you like it nevertheless…pip pip!_

_W. Ravenhall._

* * *

**Chapter 5:**

**The Dreaded Sorting**

...

* * *

Hermione peered around the great hall nervously, carefully concealing half of her from curious glances behind the tall Ron who was following Dumbledore to the front of the staff table. So many different faces, Hermione thought woefully as her eyes grazed the familiar Gryffindor table, expecting Neville Longbottom to greet her with another useful magical object that might assist him in his abysmal memory.

Ron stopped walking and Hermione banged her face into him.

"Ron!"

"Sorry, didn't realise you were cowering behind me Hermione."

"I wasn't cowering!"

"Shh," said Harry, who also hid behind Hermione. He rubbed his chin, where he bumped into her. "I think someone's going to introduce us."

"D'you think so?" said Ron sarcastically. "I was under the impression that we were invited up here so I could announce my engagement to Dumbledore."

Quite a few people laughed in the vicinity. Hermione gulped, she didn't expect that they were attracting so many curious stares and eavesdroppers.

"Relax, Hermione," said Harry, with a loopy grin. "I'm starting to think that they like us."

"I'm starting to think that you two are becoming baboons," retorted Hermione.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore, loudly and they jumped, realizing that the future Headmaster was still standing next to them. He smiled benignly at them and spoke to the now quiet hall that was full of curious stares.

"As I am sure that nearly all you are wondering who these lovely youngsters are by now… it is with great joy for me to present to you, your new classmates who have transferred from SkriLanka's most prestigious school for magic, Binglebobble Academy!"

"May I introduce you to… Mr. Barry Trotter." Harry grinned sheepishly as they Great Hall clapped enthusiastically; Hermione noted with a smirk that most of them were girls.

"Mr. Severus Snape."

More friendly clapping. Ron looked confused for a moment and opened his mouth, Hermione suspected that he was going to correct Dumbledore and quickly trod of his feet.

"And the young lady breaking Mr. Snape's toes is, Miss Jane Granger, who will also be serving as your Head Girl!"

The clapping ceased almost immediately and Hermione cringed. Harry took pity on his best friend and draped a casual arm around her shoulders

"Better steer clear of this one," he grinned, "she's a little feisty little bunny in the sack, if you get my drift," he said to the crowd, receiving impressed looks from the male population who hooted and whooped in unison.

Hermione gasped and elbowed him in the ribs, hard, earning a roar of laughter and much clapping from the crowd. She smiled sheepishly and looked apologetically at Harry, who was smirking. This was the obvious reaction that he was going for.

"Thanks," she whispered happily.

"I knew you'd hit me," Harry replied, rubbing his ribs where she elbowed him.

Dumbledore wiped tears of merriment from his eyes and beamed at them. "I am positively sure that everyone at Hogwarts will be very pleased to welcome you to our home," he announced happily as the hall clapped again. "Now why don't you take your seats and join in on dinner…"

Hermione, Ron and Harry waved to the crowd before moving towards the Gryffindor table, whom looked very fascinated by their newcomers. A boy with red hair and another with messy jet black hair waved them over enthusiastically. Hermione, grinning, thought they both looked very familiar. Harry and Ron had already returned their smiles and moved to join them and Hermione hitched up her robes and followed.

But before any of the three sat down, a frail voice called,

"Hold on a minute, please."

They all looked startled. A smiling Professor Dippet stood up from his Headmaster's chair. Hermione stole a quick look at the rest of the staff table. It appeared that the others had not joined in the laughter nor had they looked remotely impressed by their cheek. She gulped.

Perhaps Dippet would take away House points from them on their first day. But surely a kindly looking old man like him couldn't be so cruel? Then again, hadn't Snape done the very same thing to Harry on his first lesson of Potions?

Dippet cleared his throat, tearing Hermione from her thoughts.

"These pupils have not been sorted into their Houses, I'm afraid," he said in his weedy voice. "Would someone be so kind as to fetch the Sorting Hat…?"

They looked expectantly at Dumbledore but found that he was looking at Harry with a knowing smile.

"Harry shrugged and raised his wand, "Accio, Sorting Hat!" he said in a clear voice.  
Next moment, the familiar old, dirty, frayed school hat zoomed towards him.

Hermione glanced at the crowd and was pleased to see that they all looked very impressed.

"Well, done, Barry!" she laughed, remembering the countless hours she spent trying to teach him that very spell.

Ron took out his own want and muttered a Banishing spell that caused the hat to neatly descend in front of Dippet's pumpkin juice jug on the table.

The Gryffindor table clapped.

Dippet smiled along with the other teachers and beckoned them forward. Hermione was the fastest to get there and wordlessly conjured a perfect chintz chair that could rival Dumbledore's. Speaking of which, the professor looked rather politely impressed at Hermione's knack for non-verbal incantations.

"Very well done, I'll say!" said Dippet, smiling at them. "I'm sure you will all be a wonderful asset to whichever House you will be in," he looked at Dumbledore, "I can see why we chose her for Head Girl, truly outstanding." Hermione reddened.

She sat down on the chair and allowed Dippet to levitate the Sorting Hat onto her head.

"A lot of talent, I see," said the hat. "Quite a brilliant mind and a strong sense of purpose, too. No doubt you should be in Ravenclaw…" Hermione grimaced.

"No, Ravenclaw would suit you very well, but wait…" It paused. "There's a lot of courage I see, a lot of loyalty too, not to mention audacity and willpower. Ravenclaw would be a good choice, but your bravery outweighs all intelligence. Ravenclaw would have been an exceptional choice, but I think your true home is really… GRYFFINDOR!"

It yelled out the last word and Hermione heard thunderous clapping from the Gryffindor table. She practically skipped off to the table and sat next to the two boys who greatly resembled her best friends.

It was Harry's turn. The hat unsurprisingly spent a longer deal contemplating on where to place him. Hermione saw that Harry had shut his eyes and whispered something repeatedly. Eventually the Hat bellowed "SLYTHERIN!"

Hermione's blood ran cold, "Surely the school hat made a mistake?" she blurted.

The black haired boy looked pityingly at her, "I'm afraid not," he said sadly, even his voice sounded like Harry's, thought Hermione with a small grin.

"The blasted thing never makes a mistake, but then again, I should thank it for putting me and Percivas here," he nodded at the red haired boy.

Hermione gave him a weak smile that resembled a grimace before looking quickly back at Harry who had the exact same expression as a woman who was in labor and was about to give birth.

He gave Hermione a dark, brooding looking before making his way to the Slytherin table where the girls simpered and the boys patted him on the back. It was a revolting sight.

Ron was next; he eagerly jammed the hat onto his head. About thirty seconds later, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"With a name like Severus Snape, I'm destined to be in WHERE?" demanded Ron, disregarding the fact that he looked as though he was yelling at himself. Hermione blanched as there were many giggles coming from more than a few students.

"_WHAT D'YOU MEAN, SLYTHERIN_?!"

At this point, Dumbledore swiftly took the hat from Ron's indignant head and ushered him to where Harry sat. Hermione couldn't help but grin at both of the teenagers' offended faces.

"You'd think that they were headed for the gallows," commented the black haired boy next to Hermione; he nodded at her. "Potter, by the way, Dean Potter."

Hermione politely nodded back. "Jane Granger," she said awkwardly. "And you must be a Weasley?" she added, looking pointedly at Percivas.

Percivas wrinkled his freckled, long nose. "Yeah, could you tell by the freckles or the hair?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged, "The latter, I suppose…So, what are the lessons like here?"

"Oh it really depends," said Dean, blinking his hazel eyes in some surprise at her abrupt question. "Perce and I am taking up Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Defence, Herbology, Muggle Studies, Arithmancy and let's see, what else…ah, Divination!"

Hermione spluttered and Percivas raised a brow. "I take it that you're not a fan of fortune-telling?" he asked shrewdly.

"You might say that," she mumbled. Hermione suddenly stood up. "It's really a pleasure meeting you two," she told them, "but I'd better check on Sev and Barry since they look like they're about to drown themselves in pumpkin juice, just because they've been placed in Slytherin. _Honestly._"

"Don't let us keep you, then," said Dean courteously. Percivas winked, "We'd like to get to know you lot a bit better, so don't forget to come by Gryffindor common room later."

"Sure, ah wait…can't, I'm supposed to be staying in Head dorms with the Head Boy," said Hermione.

"Ooh," Dean sucked in his breath and looked pityingly at her. "Lucky you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Hermione apprehensively.

"You'll be spending the whole entire year living with Riddle," said Percivas; looking just as sorry for her, "he's a prat, but girls and teachers seem to adore him."

"Oh," said Hermione, of course they didn't realize how bad Tom Riddle could actually get, but didn't feel keen to enlighten the pair. "Thanks for the warning, I'll watch my back from now on, just in case if he decides to wow me with his super-impressive magical abilities," she grinned, "and then I'll just have to come thanking you two for your valuable tip-off!" They laughed as she rolled her eyes. They reminded her of the Weasley twins, despite one of them resembling The Chosen One.

"Best be off," she muttered and walked over to Harry and Ron who looked quite gloomy, despite being surrounded by Slytherin girls batting their eyelashes. They glared at Hermione as she took her seat next to Ron.

"How's it hanging, poor Sev?" she said, perhaps a little too brightly because Ron scowled.

"I've just been placed into the worst house in the world, Hermione, how d' you think I feel?" he replied in a low voice.

"We'll it's your own fault for choosing such a horribly Slytherin name," she retorted, "anyway, it's better this way."

Harry's head snapped up from his arms, which were folded over the table.  
"What?" he said quickly.

Hermione smiled slyly. "Well," she said. "I've just had a brilliant plan that involves the both of you having to stay in the Slytherin common room, _if you get my drift,_" she finished with a Draco Malfoy-like drawl.

Harry's vivid eyes widened "Are you saying that we should spy…?"

"Shh!" said Ron, covering up Harry's mouth; the Slytherin girls looked at them with much interest.

"I'll tell you late,r" muttered Hermione. "I'm going to get my subjects sorted."

"Nah, it's okay," said Ron, looking smug. "I told Dumbledore what we took, he's had it set for the same subjects we did when we were still in our own…" he trailed off.

"Brilliant," breathed Hermione. "I'm going to go and check out the dormitories before Riddle gets there," she looked quickly around their table. _Odd_, she thought, _where was he_? Hermione half expected to see the tall dark haired boy to be surrounded by his friends. But oddly enough, there was no trace of any of them.

"Not so odd," said Harry shrugging, when she confided this to him. "Probably having a 'Welcome-Back party' with his beloved Death Eaters."

"Go figure," she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief, she suddenly had a small revelation. "You, know," she said in a low voice, "now that we're the same age as Riddle, I don't feel much afraid of him being the future You-Know-Who."

"Hermione!" spluttered Ron in disbelief. "We're talking about the same evil moron who killed hundreds of wizards, witches, Harry's parents, Sirius and Dumbledore!"

"I know that," she snapped. "It just seems that he's less likely to grow three horns and fangs and attack me while we're in school. So we can bet on Harry's Firebolt that he won't try to hurt any of us while we have Dumbledore."

"But you're forgetting something Hermione," said Harry, reaching for a Pumpkin pasty,

"He opened the Chamber of Secrets and eventually killed Moaning Myrtle, remember?"

"And that was just last year" added Ron.

"That's not to mention that he killed his dad, grandparents and stole a family heirloom," said Harry.

"_His _heirloom," corrected Hermione, "it belonged to him as much as it belonged to his family." But Harry's reminder still sent a chill down her spine.

"I can't believe I have to share a dorm with him!" she wailed suddenly, banging her goblet on the table. Harry and Ron nodded sympathetically.

"Percy didn't have to share a Common room," she added dispassionately. "He got the luxury of choosing where he wanted to sleep!"

"Yeah and he chose us because he wanted to shove his shiny Head Boy badge in everyone's faces," said Ron, frowning.

Harry leaned close to Hermione. "Hermione, listen to me," he said in an urgent whisper. "Riddle is clever, he's manipulative, he's ambitious and he's dangerous. I want you to be careful and keep a look out for what he's up to—"

"You want me to spy?" said Hermione in disbelief. "Well, al-all right."

"I don't want him using you in any way, shape or form," added Ron.

Hermione bristled. "You make him sound like some sort of sex predator," she said waspishly, "and I've only met the bloke once."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean, Hermione. He might use you for your _brains_."

Hermione laughed "I'm sure he won't. You must be forgetting that he's the cleverest wizard of the century besides Dumbledore. I hardly think he'll try to use me… hex me more likely."

"Which is why you need to be careful, alright?" said Harry, his startling green eyes full of concern.

"Of course I will," said Hermione, concealing her annoyance. "Harry, I'm seventeen, not seven. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself so stop worrying, _both_ of you."

"We need to do _something_ to pass the time, Hermione," said Ron airily.

"Then you must be a really sad bunch, then," she scoffed. "I'm going to check out the dorms before Riddle gets there."

"Oh, by the way, your grandfathers requested an introduction," she added. "But I daresay I'm not apt to such formalities, so I suppose you'll have to do it yourselves."

"Oh," gasped Harry in surprise. "Where?" He'd always wanted to meet some of his dad's relatives.

"They're over by the Gryffindor table and look mighty-like yourselves, so I doubt that you'll have any trouble locating them," sniffed Hermione. "Well, I'll see you later, if not, then in class."

"Have a good time getting to know Voldemort, Hermione," sniggered Ron.

"Shut up!"

"Touchy."

"That's what you like to do to_ yourself_ when you think of Snape in Neville's grandmother's clothes."

"How dare you!"

"See you later Jane," said Harry loudly.

"Ok, Ok, I'm going…"

...

* * *


	6. Acquainting Heads

* * *

**Chapter 6:**

**Acquainting Heads...**

* * *

...

* * *

Hermione scowled at the familiar portrait of Beatrix Gaultier, the opera singing sorceress. She was standing at a familiar concealed corridor, behind a tapestry situated beneath the Astronomy tower.

"I'm telling you, to open up!" she demanded. "I'm Head Girl, for heaven's sake!"

"I know dear," said the portrait sympathetically. "But you know what the rules are; no password, no entry."

"So does that mean I have to go all the way to Dippet's office to get the password?"

"Afraid so, my dear, unless you could find the Head Boy…"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I'd rather eat one of Hagrid's stoat sandwiches than ask _him_," she said, more to herself than anyone else.

"One of Hagrid's stoat sandwiches?" murmured a familiar voice from behind, coldly.  
"Good lord, you must truly despise me."

Hermione reeled around so abruptly that she heard a sickening crick.  
"Ouch," she muttered, rubbing the left of her neck.

Tom Riddle was watching her with the unmistakable air of disdain.

"You should really be getting back to your own dormitory," he said condescendingly. "Unless you have any business to be at the Head dorms?"

"I—Wha?" blurted Hermione. Didn't he _know _she was his colleague?

"So I take it that you'll be in Hufflepuff, then?" he said, arching a brow.

Hermione found her voice "I beg your pardon?" she snapped.

"I was merely—"

"I think I know what you meant," she interrupted, lifting her chin up. "But as Hogwarts' _Head Girl_, I feel that I warrant _some_ degree of respect, even if it's from a patronizing prat like _you_, Riddle," she spat.

He folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, looking rather elegant and unconcerned. "Whatever pleases you, Madam" he said coldly.

"It's _Miss_, to you," retorted Hermione  
"And will you let me in?" she added raising her brows, haughtily. "I've been standing here for at least ten minutes."

Her temper was rising by the second and standing out here in the cold corridor of the fifth floor in the company of the future Dark Lord did not do anything to help lift her spirits. Not even if he resembled a shadowy version of Adonis…

Voldemort gave her chilly look of appraisal before turning his attention to the portrait of Beatrix.  
"_Horklumps" _he said clearly in his velvet voice. The portrait swung open to reveal a small hole with a saucy wink.

"After you," he murmured to Hermione in a mock polite voice laced with frost.

She nodded distractedly and stepped in front of him. Of course, she thought blithely, looking around the familiar cheerful common room, everything was decorated in the same exact fashion as it did when she and Ron were the Heads of the school.

It was the same as she remembered with the circular dark mahogany floor, half covered with rich rugs with the school House banners embroidered on them. The silk banners have also been draped around the room, which gave the charming common room more colour and school spirit.

There were about five squashy, comfortable brown leather chairs and two Jacobean settees surrounding two golden coffee tables in front of the hearth of a large fireplace that was crackling merrily.

The many mahogany book cases were still lined the circular walls, with hundreds of fat, leather-bound books of every title snuggled comfortably within its shelves.

A vast, glimmering arched window stood in the center of the tower, allowing her a glimpse of the indigo and violet night sky beyond its glassy veil. On either side of the magnificent window were a set of stairs which led to two quarters, one belonging to the Head Girl and the other belonging to the Head Boy with a walkway directly over the window which adjoined them.

There were various paintings of beautiful landscapes, most of which were in night settings with glittering stars and glowing moons shining within their canvases. Hermione remembered that her favorite one had been a fairly small painting bearing a bright, silvery unicorn slumbering in the middle of a lush forest clearing full of pink and silver wildflowers, reflecting a soft pale gold from the moonlight against the pale purple evening skies. But the reason that Hermione adored it so was because it beheld a small, magnificent bubbling cerulean waterfall, flecked with lilac and gold.

Hermione walked over to one of the many small fern-trees decorating the room and brushed her hand over its smooth leaves.  
"Hello, Patrick," she smiled, remembering how she and Ron had decided to pick a fern and named it in celebration of their one month anniversary.

Hermione suddenly stiffened, aware that someone had been watching her.  
Oh Merlin, she thought, mortified.  
Lord Voldemort was leaning against the portrait door, his arms folded negligently, watching as she hovered lovingly over a ruddy fern tree, calling it—

"Patrick?" he repeated, raising a brow in amusement.

Hermione reddened considerably.  
"Yeah," she said, trying to look defiant despite her insides cringing in embarrassment  
"I like that name, do you have problem?"

An odd, ghostly expression flickered across Voldemort's handsome face as he walked slowly across the room in his elegant strides. Hermione gulped, her hand instinctively reached for her wand, but he merely went over to the fireplace.

Voldemort stared into its flames for some time, before turning to look at her.  
The flickering of the fire seemed to illuminate his lean features, making him look darker, almost dangerous.

Hermione's knees felt like they've turned to water but she stared right back.

"What?" she demanded. "Do I have bogey on my chin, or something?"

Without waiting for an answer, Hermione spun on her heel and headed for the staircase for her dorm, which was on the right-hand side of the common room.

"Stop," he said in his quiet authoritative voice.

Hermione paused, with her hand on the sleek mahogany rail.

"Yes, _My Lord_?" she asked sarcastically and mentally kicked herself for her slip-up.

If Voldemort was shocked to the bone, he certainly hid it extremely well.

"Who are you, really?" he asked her coldly, as though she hadn't said anything.

Hermione's face blanched.

"I'm someone's who's going to jinx you all the way to Azkaban if you keep asking me stupid questions," she snapped "What's that supposed to mean, _'who am I, really_"?"

Even though Hermione thought she sounded rather brave and indignant, her insides have turned to solid ice. Did he suspect that she was from the future? Maybe something she said gave it away—perhaps by calling him _'My Lord?'_

Voldemort frowned. "I meant, what is your name," he said irritably, running an impatient hand through his dark wavy hair. "You seem to know me, but I don't have a clue as to who _you_ are."

Hermione sighed in relief. "Oh we've met," she reminded him, happy to converse about something that didn't include her being thrown backwards into time.  
"I was out side the staff room when I broke my nose from running into you, remember?"

He tilted his head to the side.  
"That's right," he said, his long fingers lightly thrumming on the mantle, watching her closely. "Then you passed out when I introduced myself."

"Er…" said Hermione embarrassed, thinking there was something faintly accusing in his tone.  
"No, I think it was the stress I was under that was the cause. I like your name very much," she added politely. Of course, it was a blatant lie, though Riddle didn't have to know that.

But apparently, he did.

"You don't have to lie," he told her callously. "I'm perfectly aware of how grotesque the name 'Tom Riddle' is."

Hermione found herself shaking her head vigorously.  
"No!" she cried, smiling in spite of herself. "I've always liked your name. I named an owl doll I once had 'Tom' and I cried for months to sleep when I'd lost him up in the Alps."  
"Besides," she added with a touch of asperity. "At least you don't get called plain Jane all the time."

There was a slight pause as Riddle surveyed her intensely through his gray eyes.  
"I see," he said quietly. "Are you feeling better since we last met?"

Hermione knew that he was being merely polite but found the concern poignant, though perhaps even slightly suspicious?

"I feel loads better," she told him carefully. "And since Dippet had told me I that was going to be Head Girl, I feel doubly great."

Voldemort nodded and gave her a calculating look. "And where did you transfer from?" he asked carefully in a casual tone.

Hermione's stomach felt knotted. "Erm, the Middle East," she said tightly. "My parents are muggles and Dad transferred back to England to go back to dentistry after a period of working as a missionary there."

She flushed at how bad the lie sounded but was relieved when he didn't contradict her, merely watched her thoughtfully.  
Hermione knew that Lord Voldemort despised muggles but found that he hadn't shown any sign of change in attitude towards her parenting.

In fact, he hadn't shown any betrayal of emotion on his smooth expression at all…

"Well," she said after a moment's pause. "I'm off to bed."

She walked hastily up the steps towards the door, just as she was about to turn to brass doorknob, she heard him call her.

"Wait," he commanded, his voice hard.

Hermione winced. _'Oh Godric'_ she thought in wild panic. _'He's going to use the Cruciatus curse on me until I tell him the truth!"_

Quickly, she whipped her wand out, ready to disarm him.

"Ah." He looked warily at her wand, aimed at his head.

"I was going to tell you that your room is the one on the left. _Tha__t_-" He pointed to the door to which Hermione was leaning against with her wand drawn.  
"That one is mine."

Hermione blushed and stowed her wand back up her sleeve.

"But if you wish to duel with an unarmed opponent," Riddle continued, looking amused. "By all means go ahead. Though I must inform you that I shall be taking twenty points from your house, as a result."

"Ha," muttered Hermione, quickly stepping across the landing to the door leading towards her own room, which once belonged to Ron when he had been Head Boy.  
"As if I won't award it back to my own House, you dolt."

"And your house would be…Gryffindor?" Riddle queried.

"Yes," said Hermione acidly.

"Of course," he replied with a smirk.

Hermione forced back the urge to throw an entire bookcase onto his head. Instead, she contented herself with an icy goodnight instead.

To her annoyance, he was still smirking in a way that made her feel daft.

"Surely it's not bedtime for you yet, is it?" he asked, arching a brow,

Hermione glanced at her silvery watch. "Drat" she mumbled. "Seven-thirty."

He frowned. "Well, I was about to lay down some house rules tomorrow, when we are both more contained," he said. "But since you're here I may as well tell you…"

Hermione didn't know why she was feeling so irate at this dark prince. Surely she should be feeling relieved that he wasn't feeling murderous towards her. But it still galled her that he was so inquisitive and coldly patronizing at the same time.

"Yes, sir," she said rolling her eyes sarcastically. "Please lay out your grand rules, so I may abide them blindly and serve you faithfully until hair grows out of my nose and ears."

_Oh Lord_, she thought in dismay, _I sound like a halfwit_.

Voldemort looked like he thought so as well. He took out his wand and stared twirling it idly with his elegantly long fingers for a long moment.  
"All done?" he asked coolly.  
He waited for her to nod before saying, "First rule: no parties in the Common room."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Guess I'll have to scull all that Firewhiskey I hid in the toilet tonight then, if it's going to waste..."

He didn't look remotely amused.

"I'm _joking!_" said she emphatically. "I'm Head Girl, _honestly._"

"Secondly," he continued leaning against the back of the couch, facing her. "As we share the same bathroom, I suggest we each use a Locking Charm, just to let each other know that the room is engaged. The bathroom is located on the left side of this common room behind the tapestry of Seward the Smelly—password is 'Poppin-Fresh'."

Hermione smiled frigidly at the irony, marveling the idiot who came up with the password.

"Agreed, as long as you don't leave the toilet seat up," she said before she could stop herself.

He gave her a very cold look.

"Very well," he bit off, twirling his wand again as he spoke.  
"Third rule: private gatherings will be held either in your Dorm or outside. The common room is strictly for business only."

Hermione gaped at him.  
"That's unfair!" she said angrily. "The last time I checked, this was a free country. Who died and made you in charge? Don't I get a say in anything?"

"No, not really," he said indifferently, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his well-tailored black robes.

"What, how dare you!" she exploded. "I'm here for about half a day and you already make up these ridiculous rules without consulting me, then you exclude me from having my own say and now you expect me to follow them?"

He didn't say anything; but merely gazed at her with his penetrating gray eyes.

"If you want to know," he said, the coldness creeping back into his voice,  
"Headmaster Dippet told me to lay out these rules... and I was instructed to pass them along to the Head Girl."

Hermione felt gutted.  
"Oh," she managed, embarrassed for her outburst. "But I had every right to be mad, you know," she added indignantly.

"Of course you did," said Voldemort coldly.

"I don't think I like that tone you're using very much, Mr. Riddle," snapped Hermione. "If we are to be forced to spend the rest of the year in each others company, then I suggest you be less hostile towards me."

He just stared at her appraisingly.

"Fine," she snapped, flipping her bushy hair over her shoulder and striding towards the portrait hole and yanking it open violently.  
"If you won't accept my terms, then I am out of here!"

"Don't forget to close that door quietly after you leave," said Riddle over his shoulder carelessly. "It's coming off its hinges."

Hermione swore and slammed it on her way out with all her might.

* * *

...


	7. Down in the Dungeons

* * *

**Chapter 7:**

**Down in the Dungeons**

* * *

...

* * *

Hermione's breath quickened as she walked briskly down the cool, dimly lit dungeons leading towards the Slytherin common room. _What is wrong with me? _She wondered miserably, while feeling around with her hands for the stone pillar that bore the entrance to the Slytherin lair.

_Riddle was being perfectly normal—by Dark Wizard standards anyway, and then I had to open my stupid mouth and make him hate me – _

Hermione cursed loudly as the Bloody Baron glided through the solid wall and swooped right through her, giving Hermione the feeling of having an entire ice-cold bucket of water doused on her head.

Shivering, the small brunette's eyes followed to where the Baron came from.

"That's it!" she whispered triumphantly. "That's where the blasted entrance is. Now what's the blasted password?" Her heart sank as she remembered that only Slytherins knew what the password was.

Hermione cursed again and thought miserably that she may as well spend the rest of the evening in the library looking through the thousands of dusty, leather bound volumes.

"At least that's where I belong," she said firmly to herself, trying to stave away the empty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Hermione suddenly felt a wave of loneliness that she hadn't felt since her first year when she hadn't made any friends yet. She needed Harry and Ron and couldn't remember the last time that they were out of yelling distance from her.

Hermione sniffled and felt tears running down her cheeks.

'_I miss them,'_ she realised, wringing her hands together. '_I miss not being able to talk to anyone, I miss the Gryffindor common room, I even miss Lavender and Parvati, oh_, I miss home!' Hermione heaved a great sob and turned to head towards the dungeon entrance.

SMACK!

The next thing she knew, Hermione saw numerous bursts of light. Disorientated, she shook her head a couple of times, like a dog trying to rid water and bugs from its ears.

"Are you alright there?" asked a friendly voice.

Hermione still envisioned little stars in front of her eyes, but blinked nonetheless to look up into a pair of friendly blue eyes. She felt her jaw drop.

"S-Sirius?" she gasped, looking at the seventh year boy with dark hair and a boyish grin.

The boy looked confused, even though his grin was still in place

"Er-no, it's Black, but hey," he shrugged, "call me what you want, it's better than 'Alphard' anyway."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said quickly. "You just look an awful lot like a friend of mine, that's all."

Black beamed. "Well, couldn't be another Black could it?" he inquired curiously. "I'm told that we all look astonishingly alike"

"Erm, no I don't think so..."

Hermione felt her face growing warm. _Sirius wasn't even born in this time' _she told herself. '_Now you've made him think you're a weirdo'._

Black looked a little bemused at Hermione

"I didn't bump into you too hard, did I?" he asked, looking concerned. "You look a little troubled."

Hermione frowned and looked down

"No," she said to his knees. "I'm new here, and I just feel a little—" She stopped, looking awkward.

"Ah!" he said with an understanding smile. "Say no more. You're homesick! Good lord, I thought the reason why you were crying was because your nose connected with my shoulder or another part of my burly self. And here I am, just having arrived from dinner a little later than everyone else because I had detention with Twidley for sneaking toad spawn into Persia Parkinson's hair—" He trailed off, looking sheepish.

Hermione couldn't help but grin at the rascally glint in his sparking blue eyes.

Alphard glanced at her robes. "Oh!" he exclaimed excitedly. "So _you're_ the new Head Girl!"

Hermione nodded. "As I said before, I'm new here. I've just arrived with my friends a while ago."

"And I'm guessing that they were sorted into Slytherin?"

"Well, yes- strangely enough…"

Black raised his brows

"Oh no," he said suddenly with a grin, showing his very straight, very white teeth, "you mustn't think that we Slytherins are all bad. Some of us are actually quite charming once you get to know us."

Hermione let out a small bitter laugh

"Tell that to Riddle, I'm sure _he'd_ agree," she said sarcastically.

"Riddle, did you say? _The_ famous Tom Riddle?"

"The very one," said Hermione, eyeing him curiously.

"Yes," he said nodding. "He's a right scary git. Has this air of 'dark supremacy' about him that I'm sure you've noticed?"

Hermione shrugged "He seemed pretty normal—"  
At least normal until she remembered that this _normal _person was going to become the most evil wizard of all time.  
"—Well, he was rather condescending towards me, tried to boss me around you know…" she relented.

Alphard Black grimaced

"Surely you didn't let him—?"

"Of course not!" said Hermione at once. "I'd have chucked an entire bookcase at him if I weren't Head Girl"

"Jolly good of you then," he said with an approving nod. "But I have this odd feeling that—as delighted as I am to becoming acquainted with you—" he added hastily, "this wasn't the initial intention of you being here?"

"Erm, no," said Hermione, a little awkwardly. "I tried to get into the common room to talk to my best friends. Er, do you think you can call them out for me?"

Alphard waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense," he laughed. "Just come in with me!"

Hermione gaped. "But House rules—policies—rivalries…"

Alphard waved his hand again, walked forward to the pillar where Hermione had stood not a moment too long ago.

"Sea snakes," he said confidently to the wall.

Immediately, it slid open to reveal a narrow doorway

"I know, I know," he rolled his eyes to Hermione. "Highly original password, we should probably get Riddle to change it..." Hermione smiled shyly.

"So what's your name and your friends' names again?" asked Alphard, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. He was tall, dark and good looking, with wavy jet black hair that fell onto his forehead elegantly.  
However, Hermione rather thought that she didn't feel the same sort of reaction to his looks as she did when she first laid eyes on Tom Riddle. Because maybe it wasn't simply rugged looks that had stolen her breath in his daunting presence.

Perhaps it was the momentary deep attraction to his velvety voice, the peculiar feeling of security when she was with him, a contradiction to the aura of danger he possessed… and the strange pull to those deep grey eyes—

"Hermione, shut up," she muttered, thinking that her imagination was starting to run wild again with its underpants over its head.

"Sorry did you say something?" asked Alphard, puzzled.

"Erm, Harry P—"she amended quickly, swallowing. "I mean Barry Trotter and Severus Snape," she corrected herself "And I'm Jane Granger."

Alphard chuckled, he pulled out his wand and pointing it at his throat. Hermione felt a moment of dread passing over her. No—he's not going to do what I think he's about to—

Muttering 'Sonorus', Black bellowed to the dungeon common room at large with his magically magnified voice.

"BARRY TROTTER AND SEVERUS SNAPE, JANE GRANGER AWAITS YOU!!"

He startled the entire vicinity; many girls screamed in surprise and glared at him reproachfully.

Alphard gave Hermione a lopsided grin "Probably shouldn't have done that as a Prefect" he said as an afterthought.

Hermione took a moment to register the shock

"You're a _Prefect_?" she demanded, thinking that no one would be in their right mind to appoint such an idiot to become a Prefect.

"Hermione!" cried a very familiar voice, followed by a muffled grunt of pain. She spun around to look at the familiar figures of he two best friends in the world from one of the dormitories. Ron was holding his leg where Harry had evidently kicked him for letting slip of Hermione's real name.

With a shriek of happiness, Hermione leapt over a footstool and dashed towards Harry and Ron, giving the pair a crushing hug.

"Hey, calm down!" complained Ron in a muffled voice, his mouth was full of bushy brown hair. "Merlin, you're going to choke us before Quidditch tryouts," he wheezed.

Harry didn't say anything; he was still trying to breathe properly and his glasses were knocked askew.

"Oops, sorry Harry," said a startled Hermione as let them go. "I've missed you so very much after spending literally five minutes in the company of He Who Must Not Be Named."

Harry looked warily around him and ushered her towards a deserted corner where there were a small number of comfy looking chairs and poufs.

Hermione suddenly remembered Alphard, and turned her head to offer him her gratitude. However, Alphard was already lolling on the couch with the girls who had screamed, grinning flirtatiously while they simpered.

"Loud bloke," said Ron, gesturing to Alphard while rubbing his ears, "and I thought I escaped shouting when left mum at The Burrow."

Harry nodded fervently. "Mind you he looks an awful lot like—"

"—Sirius?" said Hermione smiling slightly "I actually thought he was, given that most of the Blacks look similar"

"Which one is he?" asked Harry, forcing casualness.

"His name's Alphard," said Hermione."I think he could be Sirius' father." she added, looking impressed.

Harry shook his head. "No, that's Sirius' uncle. He told me over the summer one time."

Ron frowned. "I didn't remember seeing his name on that tapestry."

"Oh, that's be because he gave Sirius a fortune after he left school to get himself a place and was disowned by his family."

Ron whooped. "Like Uncle like nephew, eh?" he chuckled.

"I don't doubt that," said Hermione with a disapproving frown. "He seemed very agreeable and eager to break as many rules as he can get away with."

"Bloke seems like quite a catch," commented Ron, impressed.

Harry glanced over to the couch where his godfather's teenage uncle sat, now almost completely obscured by tittering sixth year girls. He smiled in spite of himself. He had a distinct feeling that his godfather attracted the similar attention when he was in school.

"Yeah," he said absently. "Though nothing on Riddle. Even teachers go ga-ga over _him_."

Hermione stirred uncomfortably on her pouf.

"What Hermione?" asked Harry curiously.

"It's just, well," she paused, looking very embarrassed. "It's just you never told me he was good-looking, so he took me by surprise this morning." Her face burned at the metaphor she used to describe him. _Her dark knight.  
_Hermione gave an involuntary shiver.

"You saw him this morning?" breathed Harry.

"Was that why you were in the hospital wing?" gasped Ron, who looked very white. "Riddle beat you into submission!"

"What, rubbish!" Hermione snapped, "of course didn't. I collapsed and he carried me to the hospital wing."

"All the way?" said Ron dumbfounded.

"It certainly seemed so."

"Well," said Harry grudgingly, "that was decent of him."

"Yes," said Hermione slowly. "I should have probably thanked him."

She suddenly felt a wave of shame. There she was, being outrageously rude to someone who had carried her all the way to the hospital wing where he could have just left her lying in the corridor to be trampled on by students coming out of Transfiguration.

But then, she reasoned, Dumbledore would have come to the rescue, anyway. But that would have taken at least an hour before she was found, so…

"Flobberworm caught in your throat?" asked Ron, cupping his chin with his hands.

Hermione blinked. "What?" Oh, it's nothing." She said quickly, "Just a bit surprised that the teenage Voldemort is so, well, normal. He didn't seem the least bit threatening. Condescending perhaps, but fairly amiable."

Harry groaned. "Hermione, please don't tell me you've fallen for his charms."

Hermione colored even more, if that was possible. It was a blessing that the lights under here were green.  
"Well, it's not exactly easy not to feel a little grateful for his help," she hedged. "But I don't like him; you know that I don't like the brooding type. And I definitely don't go for only looks," She added indignantly.

Ron and Harry both coughed simultaneously. Hermione distinguished the words coming from Harry as _'Krum!_' and Ron as _'Lockhart!_' Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust when her redhead friend coughed, "_Ron!"_

Ron chortled. "Hermione I know you probably think he's okay," he told her, "but you're forgetting the fact that this is You Know Who we're talking about—you know, the one who's accounted for the death of Harry's parents, Diggory, Sirius and Dumbledore? I hardly think we could ever become bosom friends with him."

Hermione shrugged, nonplussed. "I wasn't expecting that to ever happen," she said. "He didn't seem to like me much. I suppose he's a little too committed to his beloved Death Eaters to be worried about a little Mudblood like me."

"Don't call yourself that, Hermione," said Ron sharply. "You're probably smarter than the entire Slytherins in this school put together. This pureblood stuff is utter rubbish and you know it!"

"That's right," said Harry fiercely. "At least your family had enough sense not to marry their own cousins to be a pureblood like Riddle's."

Hermione grinned at her friends' indignation. She felt like crying from happiness.

"Don't worry about me, you two," she smiled.

"But if he called you a You Know What," grumbled Harry threateningly.

"He never has," promised Hermione. "And if he did, be assured that I'll jinx his lips together."

Ron laughed and Harry smiled.

"I just wonder where he has his Death Eater meetings," said Hermione, thoughtfully. "Mulciber, Malfoy, Nott, Avery, Lestrange, Dolohov. You told me that they were the forerunners of the group, didn't you Harry?"

"Yeah," said Harry furiously. "And remember that this year he's supposed to find out what Horcruxes are."

"Shh!" said Ron, he looked around him and muttered. "Muffliato!"

"Had to do that," he told Hermione who had frowned. "In case if you hadn't noticed already, we're in the Slytherin common room" She shrugged in agreement.

"So," said Ron, changing the subject quickly, "what about those Horcruxes, eh? Harry was supposed to find all of them and now it seems that Riddle's going to make them all over again, so big whoop…"

"Hmm..." murmured Hermione, whose eyes had become narrowed in concentration. "Unless if we can stop him..."

"Can we murder Riddle?" asked Ron hopefully.

"No, I don't think so," said Hermione disapprovingly. She sighed in frustration.

"Harry," she said suddenly, aggrieved. "Why did Snape want to send us here? What could we have done in the past?"

"He might've wanted us out of the way so his master could take over the world without Harry around," said Ron darkly.

"And have himself killed by his own side as a result?" asked Hermione skeptically.

"But it's just so weird," said Ron, poking a hole through the seat of his chair,

"I mean, he betrayed the Order, murdered Dumbledore and now he wants to help us!?"

"Maybe he realized that having an evil wizard dominating the world wasn't such a great idea after all," frowned Hermione. "Or perhaps he was on our side in spite of everything, but was merely awaiting the perfect opportunity to help us."

"What do you think, Harry?" asked Ron. Hermione saw Harry's brow furrow as he thought.

"I think," said Harry slowly, "that he sent us here for a reason. He made The Room of Requirement become some sort of portal and did a spell for us to appear in this exact year."

"So it really doesn't matter whether he's on our side or not," he continued, swallowing convulsively. "Either way, we've got the upper hand. This means that we can change time, change the future, and maybe even prevent future deaths."

Hermione and Ron fell silent at this idea.

"Are you saying," said Ron hoarsely. "That if we kill Riddle, then they'll never be a You Know Who in the future?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," said Harry, his emerald green eyes glinting.

"Wait a moment!" said Hermione sharply. "There is no possible way that any of us can _murder_ Riddle."

"Why not?" demanded Ron. "We can always do the usual Avada Curse or push him off the Astronomy tower, what's so hard about that?"

"First of all," said Hermione, in mock thoughtfulness, "we don't _know_ how to do the Avada Kedavra Curse and even if we did, we'd get chucked in Azkaban before we could find a way back to the present!"

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but Harry shushed him.

"Secondly," said Hermione, flaring her nostrils, reminding them of Professor McGonagall,

"We could never simply throw him off the topmost tower of the school without getting caught, especially when we're right under Dumbledore's nose. And as much as I hate to say it, even _he_ wouldn't vouch for us if we were convicted of first degree murder to one of the students of this school, regardless of how susceptible they are to evil! Besides, Riddle is Dippet's favorite student, so I don't think he'd hesitate to get us expelled and sentenced to life in Azkaban."

"But—"interjected Ron, but Harry shushed him again.

"Lastly," said Hermione, drawing herself up. "I think there's another way to prevent Tom Riddle from becoming Lord Voldemort."

Harry was prepared to shush his friend again in case if he interrupted, but found that he didn't have to; Ron's mouth had fallen open but was speechless.

"What is it, Hermione?" asked Harry, leaning in closer to her, carefully enough to stay on his own pouf.

"Can you think of any way that can stop Voldemort from existing, Harry?" said Hermione, looking at him seriously. "Think; what made him the way he is?"

"Dunno," said Harry. "I've always thought that he was born an evil git."

Hermione shook her head solemnly. "It's an easy thing to say, but in truth, no-one is born evil but are made so."

"What are you saying, Hermione," murmured Ron, his eyes wide, "that Riddle's a saint deep, down inside?! He's _You Know Who_, if you hadn't realized! The _same_ git who's been trying to do Harry in for the last sixteen years!"

"That's correct," said Hermione, nodding. "But what I'm trying to say is that we could _stop _him acquiring _something_ that will end up transforming him into the epitome of evil." She raised both her eyebrows pointedly at Harry.

"You mean to say," said Harry hoarsely, cottoning on at last. "That we have to stop Riddle from knowing about Horcruxes?"

"My point exactly," breathed Hermione.  
Harry frowned "Hermione, but Voldemort killed an old witch for Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket out of greed—"

"—to encase his soul in them," finished Hermione. "The locket, you said was rightfully his so it should belong to him in a sense, but the cup was merely for his own personal gain."

"I suppose it makes sense," said Ron dubiously. "But how exactly are we going to stop Riddle from knowing about Horcruxes when chances are, he's already heard all about them?"

"Well, one thing's for sure," said Hermione wryly. "It's definitely not in the library or in any other Dark Arts books I've ever heard of—"

"—which means that it's not in any book, since I trust that you've read pretty much every book known to man," piped Ron.

Hermione scowled. "Rubbish. But you are right about one thing; there isn't a single book that will give details of what a Horcrux is!"

Harry's eyes were as large and green as Dobby's. "So you're saying..."

"I'm saying that the only way he could get the information is from a wizard, whether it be a fully grown one or a stupid little Slytherin friend of his," said Hermione furiously.

"So what do you suggest we do about it?" asked Ron nervously, fidgeting with the frayed edges of his seat. "Stalk him?"

"Wait one minute," interjected Harry, reminding Hermione of Riddle. "You're forgetting that Riddle is dangerous, he's already killed his parents, stolen a family heirloom and framed his uncle. You don't know what he's capable of." He stared at Hermione in a frustratingly protective manner.

"Harry," said Hermione in despair. "_You're_ forgetting that we have _Dumbledore_! It's not likely that he'd attack us in the school—"

"—that's what he did to Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets," reminded Harry.

"But that was his memory!" argued Hermione. "The Riddle in the diary isn't the same person as the one who's currently living in my Dorm. The one you've met is a fragment of Voldemort's soul after he became what we know him to be in our time."

"Call it intuition or call it whatever you like," said Hermione stubbornly. "But I think there's a way of stopping Voldemort. Snape sent us here for a reason, whether good or bad I don't know. But what I _am _sure is that we now have the upper hand now and it's up to us to stop him."

Harry thought for a moment

"Alright," he said in resignation. "I mean, you were right about Sirius not being in the ministry, after all. You got Voldemort better than I did by thinking that he knew me well enough to lure me there…" Harry couldn't quite suppress the note of bitterness in his voice.

"It wasn't your fault," said Hermione gently. "Voldemort knew that you cared for him above everyone else—he was family to you. But don't you see? If we stop Riddle from resorting into Voldemort, then we'd never had lost anyone."

"Voldemort is in his past, present and future," said Harry feebly.

"Not if we can help it," said Hermione simply.

* * *

...

* * *


	8. Leaving the Lair

* * *

**Chapter 8:**

**Leaving the Lair**

* * *

...

* * *

"We should probably get you back, Hermione," said Ron, checking the time. "Blimey, it's been nearly two hours!"

"Oh dear," said Hermione, startled, "can't I just sleep in the Gryffindor Tower, like Percy? I really don't want to go back all the way to the Head dorms."

"Come on Hermione, take it like a man," said Ron blithely. "You're Head Girl. You should set a good example for the other Gryffindors. Heart of a lion!" he punched her in the arm.

"Ron!" she yelped, rubbing her arm. "Just because we've broken up, doesn't mean that you can hit me, you woman-basher!"

Harry laughed and sprayed her with spit. She grimaced.

"Fine, I'll go," she said tartly, wiping her eye. "But only if you walk me back because I don't want to face Riddle on my own, thank you very much."

Ron rose his eyebrows at Harry. "Do we have a choice?" he asked, Harry shook his head no.

They rose from their seats and walked hastily across the darkly lit common room. Hermione looked around for Alphard to say goodbye but he seemed to have left.

She shrugged and headed for the door behind Ron. As she waded her way through a group of Slytherins, a voice full of malice called out to them.

"What's this?" jeered a voice. "A _Gryffindo_r _Mudblood_ in our common room?"

Hermione stopped dead and looked over her right shoulder. A large group of Slytherin Seventh years were glaring at her as though she were an overgrown walrus.

Harry and Ron quickly drew out their wands at the ready.

"Say that again," snarled Harry.

The boy who spoke narrowed his pale cold eyes

"I was right boys," he said, ignoring Harry as his friends laughed. "Head Girl; I said she was a filthy little—"

Ron shot a spell that barely missed the boy's silvery blond head.

"That was a warning," he spat angrily, "you keep your mouth shut, you—"

"No—just leave him," said Hermione sharply. "Honestly, I don't care what they think."

"But he just called you a-a…"

"He's not worth it," repeated Hermione, looking at the boy in disgust. "Come on, let's just get out of here."

"Good move," breathed the pale boy. "You'd better watch yourself Trotter, Snape," he added to Harry and Ron. "We run this house and if you get on our nerves, you'll wish you were never born."

"Did you hear that, Barry?" asked Ron sarcastically. "He said something about us not wishing we were born. Big words for a slimy little git…"

Harry and Hermione laughed darkly. The Slytherins inched closer to them threateningly but Harry didn't care; he knew that he could take on three at once, Ron could take on the other three and Hermione—she could have probably take them all on, herself if she wanted to.

"Jane," said Ron smirking. "Take fifty points off Slytherin!"

Hermione grinned wickedly.  
"Fifty points from Slytherin," she smiled sweetly.

The boy's face darkened. "Why you filthy little blood traitors," he spat, raising his wand.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" shouted a new voice. Hermione, Harry and Ron were surprised to see Alphard running towards the fray, wand in the air.

He slid through the three and stood in front of them in the act of placing himself as their champion.

"Is there a problem, Malfoy?" he asked, pleasantly although his eyes glittered dangerously, looking more like Sirius than ever. Hermione bit back a misty grin.

"This is between me and the blood traitors, Black," snarled Malfoy. "Get out of it before we—"

"—before we do _what_, exactly?" laughed Alphard. "Give me empty threats? Threaten my family? I'd like to see that."

Malfoy's face blanched. "Just because you're a Black doesn't mean that you're cut above me," he hissed.

"I'm well aware who I am but that's not the reason why I think I'm better than you," said Alphard sharply. "Picking fights on new students on their first day in the company of a Prefect and the ruddy Head Girl? And I thought you couldn't be any stupider…"

There as a ripple of laughter from onlookers.

"Alphard," whispered Hermione, pulling at the sleeve of his robes. "Its fine, we'll just go. I don't want to cause any trouble..."

He glanced at them over his shoulder

"Sure," he told her cheerfully. "Just go on right… I'll just have another word—Argh!"  
There was a flash of violet light and Alphard's robes were spattered with blood from the side of his face.

Harry and Ron moved angrily next to him, but Alphard was more than ready.  
"_Mularkinises!"_ he cried, there was a large puff of blue smoke and the next moment all of Malfoy's friends were unconscious on the ground sprouting leaks of water from their ears. Alphard bowed to the cheers and tumultuous applause from the large crowd of Sixth years who had been watching with excitement.

"Thank you," he said graciously with a smart little bow. "I live to entertain, you know…"

Harry and Ron looked torn between amused and gobsmacked.

"That was brilliant!" said Harry, his mouth still hanging open. "Where did you learn that spell?"

"Oh that was one of Abraxas' inventions that he attempted to use on me last week," said Alphard airily, "but it's not exactly Ministry approved so I guess I shouldn't have used it, being a Prefect and all." But Ron looked at Alphard as though he were a rock star

"Blimey!" he said, shaking with laughter. "You _have_ to show us that some time!"

Black beamed, "Indeed I should!" he said brightly. "Come on, there's a spare classroom open near Charms. I normally meet up with friends from Ravenclaw every now and then—"

"What is going on?!" shrieked a high pitched, girl's voice from the end of the room.

Hermione looked quickly and saw that the girl had long, blond hair and was wearing a livid expression.

"Er, hi Parkinson," said Alphard, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Malfoy and I were just talking and you wouldn't _believe_ what he just did to me—". The girl looked like she had eaten a barrel full of wasps.

"Go!" he whispered urgently to Hermione, Harry and Ron from the corner of his mouth and they quickly scampered through the dungeon doors, just as Parkinson yelled something about 'dishonor' and 'losing our bloody badges!'.

* * *

...

* * *


	9. Heading Back

* * *

**Chapter Nine**:

**Heading Back...**

* * *

...

* * *

Hermione, Harry and Ron quickly trudged up the stairs leading them from the gloominess of the dungeons, discussing heatedly about Malfoy and his cronies.

"Bunch of ugly gits, if you ask me."

"Picking a fight on Black, six-to-one!"

"He was really good with that hex though," said Harry admiringly.

"Yes he was, but he's also a Prefect," said Hermione stiffly. "He shouldn't be using illegal jinxes. He could've been in serious trouble for doing it right in front of me…"

"Come off it, Hermione," said Ron incredulously. "The bloke just helped us out from Malfoy and his hairy underlings!"

"You're not thinking of reporting, are you?" smirked Harry.

"Of course not," frowned Hermione as they pushed through a tapestry and headed down a different corridor. "It's just that none of us should really be picking a fight with the forerunners of the Death Eaters, if we want smooth sailing through our plan."

Ron choked on air.

"I forgot!" he gasped. "Abraxas—Malfoy's grandfather…I didn't know he was a Death Eater?" he said in hushed tones.

"Malfoy, Rosier, Lestrange, Nott, Mulciber and Avery…" said Harry ticking off the names with his fingers. "Yep, that's them, alright—Riddle's devoted servants."

"I feel safe in bed now, all of a sudden," said Hermione mutinously.

"It's not like they're going to do anything under Dumbledore's nose," said Ron, soothingly. Harry didn't want to contradict his friend, but Hermione knew full-well that Dumbledore had told Harry that Riddle gave orders to his Death Eaters so their petty misdeeds were never detected.

They walked in silence until they reached a narrow corridor in the astronomy tower.

"Well, here we are," said Ron, stopping in front of the portrait of Beatrix, the Opera sorceress.

"Thanks," said Hermione. "_Horklumps."_ The painting heaved an irate sigh before swinging open for Hermione to climb through.

"Well, night, then," said Harry from behind. Hermione stared.

"Aren't you going to come in?" she wheedled. Hermione hated the desperate edge in her voice but ignored it.  
"You're more than welcome to stay…"

"Thanks, Hermione, but no thanks," said Ron. "We'd better get back before we...uh... get in trouble."

"Oh you just want to see if you can pick more fights with Malfoy," said Hermione irritably. Ron and Harry grinned guiltily "Fine, go ahead, I wouldn't want you to be kept waiting…" She slammed the door in their faces with a huff.

.

Hermione crossed the common room to the open fireplace that was crackling merrily and leaned against the mantle fuming.

"Oh, so you're finally back." The cool male voice startled Hermione, who jumped back and singed her robes.

Ignoring them, she stared at Tom Riddle who was positioned comfortably on the couch directly behind her, surrounded by parchment and leather bound books.

"Have you been waiting for me all this time?" Hermione blurted.

Riddle looked at her appraisingly.

"No," he said quietly. "I've been setting out Prefect timetables; a job that should have included your participation, but I daresay you had other pressing matters to attend to." He didn't say it sarcastically or even accusingly, he just stated it as a fact.

"Well I'm sorry that I couldn't be of any assistance to you tonight," said Hermione acidly. "But in case if you've forgotten, _someone_ upset me tonight so I sought refuge in the Slytherin common room, which was a big mistake as I had the pleasure of being acquainted with your—_friends._" She had just refrained from using the term 'Death Eaters'.

"Then you would have had the opportunity to see their more charming side?" he said lightly as he smoothed his robes nonchalantly.

Hermione snorted inelegantly. "Oh yes, I had first hand experience," she said.  
"I liked them very much as they were very hospitable to Muggleborns in their common room," she added, sarcasm dripping heavily. "In fact, they were so kind as to fetch me iced-tea, pastries and a nice warm brick, covered in lambskin to warm my toes while serenading me with the purest vocals of Mozart's 'Voi Che Sapete' in drag."

"They can be like that sometimes," was Riddle's elaborate reply. He stood up and waved his wand and the dozens of scrolls and parchment vanished at once.

"Oh, before I forget," he said, sounding as though Hermione wasn't worthy of his short-term memory, conjuring up a slip of parchment and walking toward the fireplace to the small brunette.  
"This is for you—they're the timetable for our patrol duties." He handed it to her and strode off to the staircases without another word.

Hermione turned it and her eyes skimmed the very neat, eloquent writing. According to the timetable, she would be starting patrol duties the following evening for four hours after eight.

Sighing wearily she muttered "I feel overworked already."

Riddle paused halfway up the stairs and looked down at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

Hermione gave him a very cold look.

"Do you know that I can turn you into a tea pot, right now?" she asked irritably.

"No," said Riddle archly. "But do you know that your robes are on fire?"

Hermione gasped and looked down, the hem of her robes were indeed burning. Cursing, she put them out with a tap of her wand and glared at him, but he had already turned away and was walking into his room. Hermione swore that she saw a smirk on his face as he closed the door.

"Ruddy git," she muttered bitterly, sounding very much like Hagrid.

* * *

………………………………………………..

Hermione woke up very early by the shrilling sound of the alarm clock and dressed at lightning speed in the hope of escaping—leaving—early to avoid seeing Riddle in the morning. Hermione rammed a brush into her bushy hair while trying vainly to put her left arm into her blouse.

"I need to get my old things back," she though desperately.

Thankfully, someone—most like Dumbledore, had placed an assortment of clothing into her sapphire and gold bedroom the previous evening, so Hermione had a large variety of vintage-looking shirts, trousers and dresses to choose from. Unfortunately, many of them were either too large or too small to fit her, so Hermione had planned to wake up early in the morning to sneak into the Room of Requirement to try to get the room to supply her with her old possessions.

"Argh!" she cried wildly as her foot slipped and struck the leg of her four-poster bed with such a force that the royal blue hanging fell onto her.

Thirty seconds later, Hermione had limped from of her dormitory with the grace of a giant mole and crept silently through the door, carefully so she wouldn't rouse any suspicion from Riddle.

"I wish I had the Marauder's map with me," she said to herself as she ducked behind the statue of Eiwog the Ugly to avoid Peeves drifting around dropping Dungbombs along the corridor.

Hermione darted into a hidden doorway that was pretending to be a wall and found a shortcut to the seventh floor. She walked quickly to the wall in front of the painting of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach a couple of trolls how to do the ballet, pacing back and forth three times. _I need my old things back from the future_, she chanted silently.

"Aha!" she cried delightedly when a brass doorknob appeared. Quickly, she grasped it and pushed the door. There in the middle of a small room that resembled a broom closet, was a full length mirror and a trunk full of her clothing and books. Hermione gratefully flicked her wand and it became feather light. She began levitate it into the air, but after a few inches up, her eyes caught sight of another trunk behind it that looked unfamiliar.

"This couldn't be mine," she mumbled and let her own trunk fall.  
Hermione walked hesitantly towards it .  
"_Alohomora_," she whispered and the locks sprang open.  
Inside was a jumble of silk dresses and fancy gowns in a rainbow of colors that didn't belong to her.  
"How odd" she said as her fingers skimmed over a pale green silk gown that had a gold trim on its square necked line.  
Hermione stared at a soft cream colored dress and thought she had never seen anything so lovely. Instead of a gold trim like the others, this one had a silver trim over the edge of the strapless bodice and a full skirt with delicate embroidery. A gauzy lace net with very short angled sleeves with pale blue ribbon roses were attached to the lace as an over dress. Hermione folded it neatly back into the trunk; as beautiful as the dresses were, they didn't belong to her. This meant that somebody would be looking for them.

She shut the trunk and quickly levitated her own directed it in front of her through the door. Quietly, Hermione shut the door and snuck back into the Dormitory where she dumped her belongings on her bed, grabbed her old dark red suede bag with parchment and quills and headed to the Great Hall for an early spot of breakfast, despite it being only 5:45 in the morning.

* * *

...

"I would've nicked the clothes, if I were you," said Ron with a mouthful of fried egg as Hermione read the paper an hour and a half later.

"For the last time, Severus," said Hermione irritably, not bothering to glance up. "It would be wrong if I took what didn't belong to me."

They were sitting at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, since Ron and Harry felt guilty for leaving Hermione to fend for herself in the face of a young Lord Voldemort the previous night before and wanted to make it up to her. Admittedly, Harry and Ron had become quite popular with the Slytherins ever since they had stood up against the Death Eaters with Alphard Black, but Hermione was glad that it hadn't stopped her best friends—particularly Ron from abandoning her for popularity.

"Of course we would never do that!" said Harry cheerfully, as he helped himself to more kipper. "Anyway, who cares what the Slytherins think?"

"You know full well that it's not just the Slytherins who consider you two as popular," said Hermione, sipping on her morning coffee. "There was a rumor around the school that when you two headed back to your common room, Malfoy and the others were ready to pounce on you but you and Ron took them out without getting a scratch."

Ron beamed. "Yeah, I gave Malfoy a new face and Harry took out three out three blokes with gangrene spells!"  
Hermione frowned.

"And then I made that big bloke Mulciber wet his pants when I rictusempra-ed him; couldn't stop the laughing fits".

Dean and Percivas had just arrived in time to hear this and roared with laughter along with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Hey, you three," said Dean. "Dumbledore gave me this to give to you." He handed three large pieces of parchment to Hermione, Harry and Ron.

"Ah, our timetables," said Harry, glancing at them. "We get the same subjects we did last year"

"I forgot that Dumbledore was the assistant Headmaster," said Ron absently, scratching his chin with a fork.

"He's Head of Gryffindor," said Percivas, setting down next to Ron and helping himself to sausages and eggs. "Brilliant bloke, a little fruity though" he added pensively.

"Oh, we're supposed to tell you from him that if you want to sign up for Quidditch teams, you'd better consult your captains from your House," said Dean. Harry looked up quickly and Ron choked

"Oh, so who's Gryffindor Captain?" asked Harry keenly.

Percivas quirked an eyebrow. "Don't you mean Slytherin? Cos that would be Malfoy"

Harry and Ron shuddered.

"I forgot we were in Slytherin for a minute," said Ron darkly.

Hermione shrugged. "I think the Hat put you in there on Dumbledore's request," she told them wisely. "Most like because he wanted you two to keep a lookout for the goings on in that House."

Harry looked mildly surprised. "Yeah, I'll ask him today about that. I'm glad we've still got him."

"What are you lot talking about?" asked Percivas confused.

Harry looked at Hermione who looked at Ron

"You two tell them," said Hermione wearily. "I'm going to go see Dumbledore about my timetable—I think he made a mistake; he put me in Divination instead of Ancient Runes."

………………………………………………………..

It took Hermione a few minutes to locate Dumbledore in the Transfiguration office since he left breakfast a little earlier than usual.

"Ah, Miss Granger," he said politely when she entered the office.

Hermione saw that the office looked almost the same as the Headmaster's office. All of the whirling, clanking silver instruments and cabinets were in the same position puffing out smoke every now and then. Perched on a golden stand was a handsome bright red and gold bird singing softly. Hermione looked at Dumbledore.

"Hello professor," she smiled. "And a good morning to you, too," she added to the phoenix.

"You must be Fawkes, Harry told me about you." Fawkes cocked its head and Hermione grinned at Dumbledore's amused expression.

She looked rather embarrassed and Dumbledore kindly invited her to sit on a squashy chintz chair in front of his desk.

"Erm, sir," she said quickly, since it was almost nine and she was sure that Dumbledore had a class to teach. "I think you put me in the wrong class, you see, I'd dropped Divination in my third year—"

"Ahh," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I gather that you have little patience with that particular branch of magic?"

"Well, yes, sir. Professor Trelawney—our old teacher," she added, "told me that I didn't have the right aura and was hopelessly mundane because I refused to see pseudo-grims in a lump of tea leaves."

Dumbledore chuckled.

"And I know that it's a very imprecise branch of magic and I personally consider it a bit of a waste of time when I could be doing a more useful subject—like Ancient Runes," she said pointedly.

Dumbledore nodded. "Miss Granger" he said gently. "The reason why I have arranged for you to do these subjects is because I wanted to you be successful in your mission."

"My mission?" spluttered Hermione. "What mission?"

"The one you were planning with Misters Potter and Weasley yesterday—?"

"How did you know?" asked Hermione in awe.

"Oh, a little this and that," said Dumbledore, cupping his hand to his ears in turn, making her imagine that he liked to listen through walls in his free time.

"But I never _said_ it was a mission…" mumbled Hermione.

"Ah, but whatever it is," smiled Dumbledore, "it is for you three to accomplish it… without my help. It is solely your mission to prevent Lord Voldemort from surfacing."

"Why can't you help us, sir?" asked Hermione numbly, disappointed.

"Regrettably, I could never…" said Dumbledore sadly. "However much I would desperately want otherwise, alas, I cannot change time. It would cause a great disturbance in the fabric of time. A disaster, some might call."

"But how can Harry, Ron and I, then?" asked Hermione miserably.

Dumbledore surveyed her with his twinkling light blue eyes.

"You were sent here for a purpose," he said. "You were meant to change time. I daresay that the spell caster had arranged it so that I could assist you, though not directly."

"Meaning that you couldn't directly kill Riddle?" asked Hermione, looking glum.

"But you said it yourself that there were other ways to stop Voldemort," reminded Dumbledore gently.

"I know, we have to prevent him from finding out about Horcruxes, for starters,"

"Precisely," said Dumbledore beaming. "That is, of course, why I had placed you in most of his classes—"

"_What?"_ yelped Hermione.

"I assure you it was to assist you in your mission, not for personal entertainment," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.  
"I daresay it would help you keep a lookout and such"

"Oh, I didn't think that one through" said Hermione sheepishly, calming down from her horrified outburst.  
"Thank you professor," she said, a little grudgingly.

Dumbledore gave her an light-blue scan over his spectacles.

"Unfortunately, Harry and Mr. Weasley will be doing Muggle Studies, instead of Divination…" he said lightly. "So I daresay you will be... what is the phrase? Ah...  
'Riding on your own carpet of shadows in the gathering twilight'."

The bell rang and Hermione leapt from her chair.  
"Thank you, sir," she said again, this time in earnest to the wise, old--er--youngish wizard. "I'd better head off to class now."

"Always a pleasure, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore politely.

Hermione could have sworn that he was smiling thoughtfully to himself as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

...

* * *


	10. Dark Corridors

* * *

**A/N:**

_Hello readers,__  
Here are some things I'd like to clarify. Dumbledore didn't actually trick Professor Dippet with the blank parchment. He had simply bewitched it to resemble Hermione's real credentials and reports. Since Dippet believed it, it gave Dumbledore another good reason to trust our heroine. I do hope you enjoy my story and would really, really love to hear your opinion of my chapters so far._

W.R

* * *

**Chapter 10**

**Dark Corridors**

* * *

...

* * *

Even though they were more than fifty years apart from their own time, Hermione, Harry and Ron still had to endure an excruciating full hour-and-a-half of droning from Professor Binns in History of Magic.

"This is _torture_," moaned Ron, who looked close to tears.

"Dumbledore put us in this class for a very good reason," muttered Hermione, who could barely keep her head off the table "we're _supposed_ to spy on You Know Who, you know."

"I _know_," said Ron bitterly, "but it's not likely that he's going to leap onto a desk and start jinxing everyone, you know."

"Or have a seizure and roll around on the ground, foaming at the mouth," added Harry helpfully.

"_Owl Rabies,_" said Ron, nodding knowingly.

"Not funny," hissed Hermione. "Now be quiet, and take your own notes! I need to watch him for a bit"

"I bet you do," muttered Ron.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"You like to look at him," Ron accused. "Because he is _handsome_"

"Well it's much better than looking at _you_!" retorted Hermione.

"Is there a problem?" asked Professor Binn's ghost in his dry, reedy voice.

"Not at all," muttered Hermione and Ron together.

As Binns droned on about the Warlock's Convention in the 1700's, Hermione spied on Riddle who was sitting three seats on her left staring fixedly at Binns, taking the occasional note.  
Apparently, he didn't mind the droning as every other student did.

Persia Parkinson, who was sitting in front of him, turned her long blond head around to look at Riddle.  
"Tom," she purred in a sing-song voice, "there's a Hogsmeade weekend notice on the bulletin this morning…"

"I know," Riddle whispered back. "I put it up there."

Hermione stifled a snigger as Persia turned pink, but recovered quickly.  
She hitched up a sickening smile.  
"Well, now that you already know all about it," she cooed, batting her long lashes. "Care to escort me?"

Riddle looked as though he was pondering.

"Well, it's in October, isn't it?" he said. "I would _love_ to go…". Hermione saw Persia's face light up as if someone had cast Lumos on it.

"But," he continued, "it just so happens that it's up to the Heads to organize Halloween, and as a result I'm afraid it's going to be a hectic month—so, well…"

"You can't come then?" finished Persia, pouting.

He smiled apologetically. "I'd much rather accompany you to Hogsmeade than organize a silly little Halloween feast." Hermione snorted with uncontrollable laughter at Voldemort's obvious lie and managed to turn it into a hacking cough.

_But oh is he __**good**_, thought Hermione, smiling as she watched Persia Parkinson's smug expression change to disappointment and to scandalized when she caught Hermione staring.

"Why don't you ask the new Head Girl to help you with your project?" she asked Riddle sweetly. "I'm sure she'd be _thrilled_, since she's taken an obvious delight to your refusal to go with me."

Hermione felt her cheeks grow warm. Tom Riddle propped an elbow on his desk angled his body slightly so he was facing her. His expression was inscrutable as he surveyed her through his grey eyes.

"I'm sure she is," he said with a smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes and attempted a brave look of disdain. "Please, _spare_ me," she retorted. "I'd rather eat goblin stools than go on a date with _you_." She heard Dean, Ron and Percivas whoop with laughter.

Riddle looked unconcerned, running a hand through his thick, dark hair.

"Whatever suits you," he murmured, turning his dark grey eyes back on Binns who cleared his throat and started on a new topic. Hermione grunted and grabbed her quill and began taking notes.

"I told you… you shouldn't be staring," whispered Ron. "Now he thinks you fancy him or something."

"Good call though," added Harry, "comparing him to stools. From what creature again?"

"Goblins," replied Hermione crossly and they laughed.

"Enriched with gobliny goodness," choked Ron, wiping away tears or merriment, "you kill me, Hermione."

"Be quiet, or I'll kill you for real," muttered Hermione irritably, trying to concentrate on Binns.

For the next fifteen minutes they took notes on History of Magic. It was desperately boring work, but Hermione was impervious to boredom; she had developed some sort of resistance to Binn's vacuum-like voice.

Hermione found herself stealing quick glances at Riddle and Persia, this time seething instead of observing.

...

When the bell rang for break, Hermione pulled Ron and Harry aside while Dean and Percivas headed towards Gryffindor tower.

"How did they take it?" she asked, referring to the two Gryffindors.

"Reasonable well" shrugged Harry, rubbing his arm. "I mean, they believe us and everything—asked us a bit about the future and all."

"Did you tell them that you were both related to them?" asked Hermione, worriedly.

"Yeah, but they worked it out for themselves," added Ron quickly. "I mean, you can't meet somebody who's almost a mirror image of yourself and not suspect."

"Actually," piped Harry, "since we looked so much like their dads, they thought we were illegitimate children—long lost brothers, you know, bastards."

"That's alright as long as they don't tell anyone," muttered Hermione.

"They gave us their word," said Harry cheerfully, misinterpreting her meaning deliberately, "they're our granddads, after all—they wanted so see us off safely!"

Ron nodded to the ceiling. "Care to try the Room of Requirement to find a way home?" he asked.

"No, not the brightest idea," said Hermione at once. "Snape used a spell to _direct_ us into this particular time, I expect that if we tried, then we could end up in a limbo forever."

"Like the Middle Ages?" suggested Harry darkly. "When they burned witches at the stake?"

"So you can see where I'm heading," said Hermione, raising her brows.

"Dumbledore said he's onto it," assured Harry. "And he hasn't failed us yet"

They went outside in the glorious autumn sunshine towards Hagrid's hut.

"Oh, my," said Hermione, her hands flying to her cheeks. "I almost forgot that he should be fourteen!"

"Freshly expelled," said Ron, looking at Hagrid's smoking chimney.

"Wrongly accused though," added Harry, avoiding walking into a running second year. "Shall we knock?"

Hermione timidly knocked on the door. They waited for a few seconds and the sound of a pair of enormous boots emerged closer to the door and opened it and they gasped.

A much, much younger Hagrid appeared at the door; his face was smooth, round and rosy and his hair was slightly less longer and tangled.

"All righ' there, you three?" he asked gruffly. Harry was astounded that though his appearance looked bizarrely different, his voice sounded exactly the same!

"Hi Hagrid," they chimed. Hagrid the teenager looked confused.

Harry quickly said "We're new students here, and we thought we should get to know all the staff a bit. This is Hermione, that's Ron... and I'm Harry," he added before Hermione could stop him.  
She elbowed him in the ribs. "Oh" he wheezed, "Ron and Harry are our, Er, nicknames—it's actually Jane, Severus and B-Barry," he muttered.

Hagrid smiled at them warmly. "Nice ter meet yer all," he said politely. "Come in fer a spot o' tea or summat," he waved them in.

"Bit funny to introduce yourself to someone who was supposed to know more about you than you do yourself at one time in your life, huh?" asked Harry as he stepped into Hagrid's cabin.

"Nice place, Hagrid" said Ron as he looked at the familiar surroundings, his eyes fell onto a small black puppy sitting on Hagrid's bed.

"Whoa, isn't that—"

"Fang," beamed Hagrid, as he laid down four mugs of tea and a plate of cakes. "I bought him off a breeder I met down by the village 'bout a fortnight ago."

Fang lifted his head from its black paws and hopped off the bed trotted towards Harry and sniffed the hem of his robes.

"I like him," laughed Harry, when Fang jumped onto his lab and drooled all over his robes.

"Like old times, eh?" winked Ron, eating a sponge cake and Hagrid smiled.

"So how do yer like Hogwarts, so far?" he asked Hermione. "Yer tha' new Head Girl, I gather?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically, "I really like it here so far," she lied. "Everyone has been great and the classes were quite interesting".

"We've only had our first class this morning," reminded Ron. "Double History of Magic," he added and Hagrid groaned sympathetically

"Couldn't stand tha' subject, meself," he said bemusedly. "And you actually enjoy it?" he asked Hermione, incredulously.

Ron laughed "The only thing she likes in Binn's class is staring at Tom Riddle." Hermione kicked him under the table.

Hagrid's face darkened and they all knew why; Riddle had framed him last year for opening the Chamber of Secrets and setting Slytherin's monster on Muggleborns.

"So how come you live out here Hagrid?" asked Harry quickly. "I thought you'd still be living in the castle"

"Well," said Hagrid, who was obviously glad at the change in subject. "After I got expelled las' year, I asked Professor Dumbledore if I could live outside the' school in the grounds so I could look after the creatures and all after the old gamekeeper Burtlog retired, so now it's me and Ogg."

"Dumbledore built you this house?" asked Hermione in awe.

Hagrid smiled wistfully. "Shoulda bin kicked out of this school but he decided ter keep me as trainee gamekeeper and built me a cabin because he knew tha' I enjoyed going in ter tha' Forbidden Forest, see."

He looked almost tearful "Great man, Dumbledore, great man."

...

They spent a very enjoyable afternoon at Hagrid's and stayed there well until dinner, as there were no classes to go to for the rest of the day. When Hermione, Harry and Ron finally bid Hagrid goodbye and traipsed back to the castle, they were in very high spirits by the time they met their granddads at Gryffindor table.

"I'm so glad that we managed to meet Hagrid," said Hermione happily as she shoveled more mashed potatoes onto her plate. "I feel heaps better, knowing that he's happy as the new trainee gamekeeper"

"Yeah, so what if he got expelled?" said Ron chewing on a bit of steak and kidney pie. "Bloke's still going to end up teaching Care of Magical Creatures even after Riddle got him chucked out. What's wrong Hermione?" he asked, when she knocked over a jug of pumpkin juice.

"Oh, I forgot," she groaned, shutting her eyes in despair. "I have to patrol the corridors with him at eight!"

Ron clicked his tongue sympathetically and Harry leaned forward. "You don't think you could keep an eye out for where he hangs out, do you, Hermione?"

Hermione played with her fork absently; she had suddenly lost her appetite.

"Well, yes, I suppose if it's necessary. But remind me why_ I_ have to be the one tailing him?"

"Because it'd look really strange if he caught Harry and me staring avidly at him all the time," said Ron, "he'd think that we'd be disgusting perverts and tell everyone."

"It would blow our covers, completely," added Harry, taking a swig of juice.

"There's no need to worry about that since everyone already knows you and Ron are disgusting perverts," said Dean, his hazel eyes sparkling with mirth.

"But Ron and Harry are right," said Percivas. "You're a girl, so just pretend that you fancy him so he won't suspect that you're plotting his demise which will eventually change the world as a consequence."

Hermione pointed her finger at Percivas with a maddeningly superior expression at Ron

"See that?" said Hermione forcefully, jabbing a finger at him. "Percivas here realized that I was a _girl_ and it only took him two days, while it has taken y_ou _Ron, three years to notice. How could you possibly say that you stem from the same ancestor?"

"That's besides the point," said Ron, his ears turning pink, "and you should really be focusing on Riddle instead of confusing us about your gender…"

Hermione threw her fork at his head, but Ron's Keeper reflexes allowed him to catch it inches before it struck his eyeballs. "Trying out for Keeper tomorrow," he informed them casually. "Harry's taking up Chaser, since Malfoy's team captain and Seeker of the team".

"I hate Quidditch," muttered Hermione.

* * *

...

When Hermione returned to her Dormitory, she found Riddle standing against the fireplace with his back to her, cold, poised and indifferent.

"Hello there, Mr. Melancholy," called Hermione blithely. "Careful or your robes might catch on fire like mine did last night."

Tom gave her an icy stare which was obviously suppose to quell her. Instead, she just rolled her eyes and walked right up to him.

_What now?_ He wondered irritably. Tom had just endured one of the most excruciatingly boring days; an hour and a half of sodding History of Magic, was asked out by half a dozen of girls for the next Hogsmeade trip excluding Persia, piles upon piles of Charms homework, endless questions from that annoying naïve git Abraxas Malfoy about when the next Death Eater meeting will take place and what will be on the agenda…

And now—_this._

He stiffened his shoulders when she tapped him there.

"Don't touch me," he snapped, moving an inch away. He saw Jane Granger's lips purse in annoyance.

"I was just tapping you on the _shoulder,_" she snapped back. "You make it sound as though I'm Uncle Bob who lured you into an empty farm shack with the promise of candy and stories."

"What do you want?" he grounded through clenched teeth. And what the hell was she on about? He didn't have any uncles who molested him. Was she assuming that he was felt up as a child? Because if she did, Tom knew that he was likely to throw her head first out of the window.  
Preferably when it was still closed.

"Well, I _was_ about to say thank you," said Jane stiffly. "until you bit my head off" she muttered.

He felt his eyebrows rise. Well, whatever he thought she was going to say, it definitely wasn't _this._

"Thank you for what?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Jane fidgeted a little with a little pebble on the mantle, avoiding his penetrating stare.

"For yesterday," she managed to say. "Thank you for, you know, taking me to the hospital wing."

_Oh_, thought Tom indifferently, _that._ He had completely forgotten about helping this little Gryffindor off the cold flagstones, but he suddenly wished that he had left her there.

"I'm Head Boy," he said curtly. "It would've looked rather unfavorable on my part if I didn't assist a student who was unconscious"

He saw Jane Granger's face crumple in annoyance at his brusque words, and perhaps— disappointment?

"Well," Hermione said finally, straightening her robes and avoiding his eyes. "Should we start patrolling? Only, I want to get to bed early because I have a full day on my timetable tomorrow."

"As you wish," Riddle said haughtily and strode out the portrait hole without another word, Hermione hot on his heels.

…………

"Alright," Tom said rather bossily, sparing the small brunette a glance beneath his dark lashes once they'd reached the middle of the fifth floor corridor. "You may take the upper floors while I patrol at the lower ones."

He saw a flicker of a grin across the dratted girl's face.

"_What,_" he said, glowering, "is so funny?"

"You're forgetting that I'm new here," she said sweetly, crossing her arms. "How on _earth_ am I to know where to patrol? For all I know, I could wind up in Hogsmeade instead of Charms classroom."

Tom swore under his breath.

"Fine," he said in a voice of forced calmness. "I shall give you a quick tour of the school and its shortcut passageways, then we shall resume to our post as said before."

"Alright," she said cheerfully, "where should we start, the library?"

She waited for him to go first, so Tom strode irritably in front of her and walked at a very brisk pace in the hope of Jane giving up on the tour and resigning to head back to the dorms.

Twenty seconds after this blissful thought, he heard a small clatter of footsteps as she panted behind him.

"_You know_," Jane said conversationally. "It's considered rude to storm off on a person who you've promised to give a tour to."

"_You know_," he ground out when she stepped on the back of his heel. "That you are a menace to this school, Granger?"

Jane stopped walking and Tom smirked, thinking that he had won.

"If I hadn't realized that your comment was a pitiful attempt at humor, I would have died of shock," she said cuttingly.

"That wasn't a joke," he told her over his shoulder.

"Not to you," she replied, folding her arms. "But between you and me, the only joke here is you."

Tom whirled around and his icy eyes turned to steel.  
"And what," he said coldly, "Do you mean by that?"

He saw the wench jut her chin out. "You think you're so superior to everyone and it makes me sick," she spat. "You try to terrorize everyone just like how you like to intimidate me. You are a selfish, power-hungry tyrant—I hope you and your Death Eaters rot in Azkaban for what you did to Hagrid!"

Riddle paled and his whole body went rigid.

Hermione's eyes rounded as she gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth.  
_Oh God_, she thought wildly, _I've just said it; I've just said the one thing that's going to blow our cover!_

Without thinking, Hermione turned on her heel and raced past him around the corner, praying that he didn't attempt to hurtle after her. _He's going to murder me_, she thought, not knowing whether to laugh or scream in terror_; he's going to torture me until I spill the beans—_

Hermione found a shortcut to the seventh floor through a portrait.

"Starshine!" she whispered and it swung open. Hermione panted heavily as she quickly darted along the corridor towards the Fat Lady's portrait, hoping to seek refuge in there for the rest of the year.

But the sound of brisk footsteps chilled her blood and she dove behind a large tapestry a few feet from her prospective sanctuary.

Hermione crouched on the ground and waited for the sound of Riddle's footsteps to fade.

Thankfully, they did.

Hermione let out a rush of air.  
After peeping through the tapestry to ensure that she was well alone, Hermione decided at once that she needed to find Harry and Ron to tell them about her wretched slip up.

It took Hermione a surprisingly short amount of time to manage her way down to the dark, dank cold dungeons.

"I am such an idiot," she muttered to her self. "A complete, utterly—".

Footsteps sounded and Hermione dove into a bright red tapestry and crouched on the ground in the hollow of the wall waiting again, until—

"Good evening, Miss Granger," said a velvety smooth voice.

Hermione choked on a laugh and gasp at the same time and turned around to face Riddle, who towered over her, his size positively frightening.  
The predatory glint in his eye caused Hermione's heart to double its rapid hammering.

"I must confess, I did not expect you to turn up in such a dismal meeting place," he murmured, and to her utter surprise, he slid down in front of her until they were eye to eye and whispered

"Tell, me," he said, eyeing her closely.

"How do you know what my friends are called?"

...

* * *

After that infernal girl had dashed off, her bushy brown hair whipping the side of his face, Tom had remained motionless for a good minute or two.

How on earth did she know what he called his 'devoted friends?' he wondered, outraged.  
Determined to find out, Tom followed her around the bend of the corridor.

He caught fleeting whiff of scent as she darted around him; roses and the unmistakable aroma of honeysuckle from her hair. _'Unmistakable, indeed,'_ he thought furiously, rubbing his chiseled jaw where her flying hair whacked him.

It really wasn't that difficult to tail her; he could hear her loud panting from an entire corridor away, Tom thought he saw her brown hair as a portrait slid shut.  
'_Oh, the_ _Gryffindor tower,'_ he thought smugly. '_How_ _predictable_'.

"Starshine," he said to the portrait firmly and it slid open.

A moment later, when he found himself several floors above the library, he heard a small clatter of footsteps. With a small growl of satisfaction, he crept slowly around the corner, like a cat ready to pounce on an unsuspecting prey, where he was sure to find that insufferable Granger girl.

"What the?" he muttered when he saw that the corridor was empty. Tom frowned; obviously she had sought refuge in the common room, which left him quite irritated.

'_This is getting really juvenile_,' he thought in disdain. It was getting late, and he had a lot of work to do before dawn and several corridors to wander around. Taking one last look at the portrait in contempt, he turned on his heel and strode towards the staircase.

'_Maybe I'll just call it a night,'_ he mused. '_I've already patrolled most of the corridors already, thanks to Granger'. _Of course, it had only really been about four corridors, but Tom thought that four and seventy-four were close enough.

Yawning, he wandered contentedly through the wonderful Trophy Room and gazed at the evidence of accomplishments as he passed, the golden House Cup and medals garnished in various assorted silks of greens, blues, reds and yellows.  
'Hmmm, we could really do with another House Cup in our collection this year' he said with a smirk, looking at the large assembly of gleaming large golden cups.

After another few seconds of observing the list of Head Boys on the plaque with his name at the very top, Tom decided that it was high time to organize a gathering with his so-called friends. Unfortunately, he hadn't yet found a more efficient way to contact them without going into the Slytherin common room.  
With that in mind, he departed towards the dungeons in deep contemplation.

He was thinking gleefully of ways to terrorize the new Head Girl. But something she had said before swam back into his head _"…you're a selfish power-hungry tyrant"_. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

Just as he glided down to the steps to the hidden Slytherin door, he heard a muffled sound and a ripple in a red tapestry on the right-hand side of the narrow passage.

'_Well, that's was unexpected,'_ he thought, baffled for a second... but delighted by his luck.

Tom smirked and crept through a green tapestry right beside, leading behind the one that Jane Granger was currently hidden beneath, crouched, with her back facing him; she was obviously trying to avoid—no, _escape _from him. He heard her rapid, incoherent mumbling under her breath in a tight voice.

'_Good_,' he thought darkly. _'She should be __**terrified**_ _of what's about to come'._

He purposely loomed over her, enough to cause a long shadow to appear in front of her.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," he said in his most pleasant voice.

He heard Jane Granger choke on a gasp and what sounded like a laugh of disbelief and turned around to face him. Her glowing honey-brown eyes were as wide as saucers as they traveled slowly up to his face.

"I must confess," Tom said softly as his firmly molded lips curving to a hint of a mocking smile,  
"I did not expect you to turn up in such a dismal meeting place". 

He saw her jaw drop and her face turn a shade paler._  
'That should show __her__ who's in charge,'_ he thought with immense satisfaction.

Tom felt like terrorizing her so badly that the next time Granger saw him, she'd run screaming in the opposite direction. But something prickled in his mind that made him stop— there was something about her wide, toffee colored eyes and the way her lips parted in shock that made her seem, almost, well…

Much to his surprise Tom abandoned his plan or scaring Jane Granger out of her wits and slid into a crouch in front of her.

He leaned in very close to the Head Girl.  
"Tell me," he whispered silkily. "How do you know what my friends are called?"

He saw her face had change from pale shock to confusion.

Then to his amazement, she smirked.

"_Magic,"_ she whispered wickedly.  
And without warning, she stood up so quickly that the top of her head crashed into his chin and bolted.

Her eyes may be watering, but Hermione thought it was worth it to see Riddle crumple in pain.

She ripped her way from behind the red tapestry and ran madly to a deserted corridor of the dungeons. Behind her she could hear very fast footsteps, coldly assuring her that Lord Voldemort was after her blood.  
Hermione stumbled over a crack in the ground and caught her other foot in a cobbled stone used to trick unwitting students. She heard his footsteps low into a leisurely pace and felt her blood chill.

Gasping for breath, Hermione frowned as she saw that there were a group of third years in front of them staring at the unusual sight of the Head Girl and Head Boy, emerging from around the corner, one of them panting as though she had run a mile.

Hermione's face colored as the third years giggled

"What are you lot doing down here?" she demanded hotly, putting her hands on her hips, despite still having her foot caught in the ground.  
"Get back to your own common rooms, or it'll be twenty points off Hufflepuff!"

Right, _that_ got them going, she thought gleefully as the third years scampered away in a hurry.

"What is the matter with you?" demanded Riddle softly, emerging in front of her, rubbing his jaw. "You act as though you wish to make the rest of my year miserable!"

Hermione shrugged and he moved closer to her.  
His face was dimly illuminated by the torches in the dungeon, throwing the rest of his features in darkness.

"Tell me," he said slowly, his eyes glittering from the flames. "Why are you determined to hate me so?"

Hermione felt her mouth fall open; since when did _Voldemort _care what she thought?

"Er, well…" she stammered, unnerved by his blunt question. "It's just…I've been warned about you…and I don't think my friends would be comfortable about our current situation, right now… come to think of it."  
Why was she blabbering like a ninny?  
Hermione stared imploringly at him, hoping that he would stop looking at her with his smoldering grey eyes and leave her in peace to work her foot away from the dratted trick cobblestone on the ground.

Tom narrowed his eyes slightly, it didn't make much sense, but he somehow got the gist of what she was saying. Or was trying to, anyway.

'_This should be fun,'_ he thought with a wicked tilt of his lips as he edged very, very slowly towards her while he murmured in a low, sultry voice.

"_So_," he smiled, inching towards the small Head Girl, making her take an involuntary step back. "To my understanding, these friends of yours... are against you becoming acquainted with me... is that right?"

She paled and nodded resentfully, biting her red lips. His eyes glinted.

"And they entreated that they did not want us to be quite alone, am I correct?" he murmured, taking another step closer.

The brunette nodded again as she leaned against the wall as far as her stuck foot would allow.  
.He slowly closed the space in between them, trapping her. He noticed with satisfaction at little Jane's discomfort at their decadent proximity.

He smiled a slow, predatory smile.  
"Then I wonder what they would say... about _this_?"

Jane looked very worried and her eyes were becoming glazed as though she was pondering hard.

Tom smirked and moved his face closer to hers, their bodies barely a foot away from touching.

"Do you know what I think they'd say to this?" he murmured. She paused, and then shook her head frantically.

He smiled and leaned in to her.  
"They'd tell you," he whispered "to be very, _very_, afraid..."

He saw Jane's eyes widen and her flushed lips pressed tightly together as if she was holding in something. He noticed that her shoulder rose slightly and—

She burst out laughing.

Right in his face.

Riddle didn't look remotely impressed. Hermione's entire body shook with irrepressible laughter.

"Oh dear Godric!" she chortled. "That was funny."

He drew back from her and folded his arms.

She straightened up while still laughing merrily

"I'm so sorry," she choked. "But you really shouldn't be so, well, _melodramatic_—it just doesn't suit you".

Riddle gave her a very dark look.

"Well, maybe it does," she amended. "You looked very dangerous and overwhelmingly handsome" she added with a chuckle. "I gather that this was your desire?"

Voldemort still looked quite dangerous at the moment, being so silent that it unsettled her.

But Hermione gave him a warm grin.

"You know, if it makes you feel any better, I'm certain that that would've worked on any other girl," she told him genially, giving him a friendly pat on the arm. "Or boy for that matter—but that's not the reason why my friends have warned me against you".

"Then what was?" he said, arching a brow.

"Just that you're a bit on the Dark side and all," said Hermione, shrugging. "And I'm not talking about a suntan. You're fascination for it is apparently part of your mystique."

"Its part of my identity," he said softly, his eyes resembling icicles.

Suddenly Tom Riddle looked more dangerous than she had ever seen him tonight.

"Oh," stammered Hermione, lost for words, "well, then I suppose—"

"—I think I've wasted enough time with you," interrupted Riddle, his eyes hardening.  
"So if you will excuse me, I have urgent business to attend to. One that doesn't involve the likes of impertinent fools."

Hermione watched in fascination as he strode away down the dimly-lit corridor, black robes billowing out, making him look like a very forbidding Severus Snape.

But before he rounded off a corner, Riddle called over his shoulder, his tone arctic.

"I trust that you'll be able to give yourself a tour, seeing how you have demonstrated _sound knowledge_ of this school's shortcuts. Probably the only type of knowledge you possess, come to think of it."

Hermione simply crossed her arms and glared at his back, wishing he would trip over his robes and break his nose.

* * *

...

* * *


	11. Potions Prodigy

* * *

**Chapter 11:**

**The Potions Prodigy**

* * *

...

* * *

"I shall kill him," said Hermione grumpily, stabbing at her bacon. "Before this week is over, I shall kill him".

She, Ron and Harry were sitting at the Slytherin table for breakfast because it had been Ron's idea to suck up to the team captain for their Quidditch tryouts.

The weather seemed to be reflecting her mood today; instead of the sunny, cloudless heavens that one was accustomed to seeing in early October, the skies were cloudy and grey-tinged like the skin of merpeople in the lake.

"Bah," said Harry. "Who cares what Riddle thinks, we all know that you could top him in every class."

"Not the way Riddle says it. He makes me sound like, like I'm Persia Parkinson, or something!" Hermione glared at the offending henwit who was curling her long hair with her wand at the end of the Slytherin table, surrounded by goggling boys.

"Well, you can show him today in Potions who's a nitwit," said Ron, shoveling down porridge. "Pass the treacle, will you?" he added to Harry.

"Ooh," said Hermione excitedly, "I can't wait, I'll make him eat his own words when I impress the Potions Master— do any of you know who's taking us this year?"

Harry and Ron burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

So Harry and Ron told her.

"AIIIEEEEE!" Hermione screeched and they laughed.

"Calm down, Hermione!" said Harry in between laughs. "I don't have the Prince to help me out this year, so you'll be best at everything _again_"

"What do we have first, though?" asked Ron with a burp.

"Just Herbology then Charms after break," squeaked Hermione, recovering from her fit.

...

* * *

Nothing particularly interesting happened in either class during their first two lessons.  
While the rest of the seventh years got to prune and care for the vicious Venomous Tentaculars in Greenhouse Five, Hermione, Ron and Harry were forced to catch up on missing lessons as they had arrived late into the term.

"Only a few weeks late!" howled Ron in despair. "Come off it, miss!" but Professor Birch, the squat, middle-aged witch with curly fair hair, ignored his pleas.

"Finish off reading these three chapters and writing the four essays that I've set Snape, and _then_ we'll talk about promoting you to fieldwork," she said tartly and went off to Priscilla Eggby, whose Venomous Tentacular had its vines wrapped lovingly around her neck and was choking her.

Charms was a touch less agonizing as they didn't have to sit out on any fun; the whole entire class was forced to sit in on a solid double lesson entirely devoted to revision from the previous year.  
Professor Twyfordshire, a gangly, timid man with a shock of white hair who kept dropping his notes on the ground, made them work in silence while he muttered about 'Blasted Nerve tonics' gone askew.

...

By the time they got to Potions down in the dungeons, Hermione felt that her eyelids were going close over her entire body due to exhaustion.

Harry and Ron headed for their usual table at the back of the class with Dean and Percivas while Hermione strayed behind on purpose.

"You go," she said, shooing them away. "I'm going to play spy-witch".

She decided that whether Riddle liked her or not, she didn't care; all she wanted to do was to stop him from discovering about Horcruxes at all costs.  
Potions was the perfect opportunity to spy on him unnoticed thanks to the energy everyone put in brewing the bubbly cauldrons.

She searched the faces of unfamiliar students for Riddle's haughty one, but found that he wasn't there. Only Malfoy, Nott and Mulciber were occupied at a bench, taking out potions ingredients and parchment.

"Care to share a table with us?" asked a pretty girl with long, chestnut hair from a table in front of Malfoy's. Hermione smiled warmly and obliged.

"I'm Phyllis Pemberly, from Gryffindor," she grinned, "and this is Jacob Casby and Jack Shacklebolt"

"Hi," chimed Hermione mechanically as she shook their hands.  
"Jane Granger, newly appointed Head Girl by default." She winced at her poor choice of words, but they merely chuckled in a friendly way.

A fifty-two-year-younger Horace Slughorn with gingery blond hair and moustache strode jovially into the room and clapped his hands for attention.

"Afternoon, ladies and gentleman!" he boomed, "Since we've all finished our attempt at the Nerve Calming tonic, it's time that we make something else that is sure to come up into your exams!"

Hermione raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss—? "

"Granger," said Hermione. "Please, sir. Barry, Severus and I are new at this school, so we haven't learnt how to—"

"Oho," said Slughorn, excitedly. "Miss Granger, could you possibly be related to Hector Dagwood-Granger who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potions?"

"Erm, I don't think so, sir, because—"

"—she's _Muggleborn_," someone interrupted with a sneer. Hermione looked behind her and found Abraxas Malfoy's jeering face.

Slughorn shrugged

"Shame," he said, "but not to worry, Miss Granger, I'm sure you'll be able to catch up with the class in no time at all"

He then looked at the rest of the class, rubbing his hands together

"Well, then," he said cheerfully, "let us commence our lesson before the day grows old!"

The class groaned and Slughorn waved a hand as though swatting a fly.  
"Now, now," he chided sternly, but the corners of his moustache twitched, "It's for your own good…but before we begin—and I'll be surprised if a quarter of you know the answer— though it's bound to come up in your exams…who can tell me of the uses of Acromantula venom?"

"It's powerful venom can cause death in a matter of minutes," said a velvety deep voice.

Hermione swung her head in an arc towards its source, her heart thundering in anticipation.

Tom Riddle was leaning against the doorframe, his dark hair fallen into his eyes with a masculine elegance.  
His presence was daunting as his voice was compelling. Everyone turned their attention to the Dark Lord as he walked with casual grace across the room.

"The venom also has many uses when brewed correctly," he continued evenly, "and it is essential for complex potions designed for cerebral implementations, curing lethal diseases and restoring vision. However, if brewed incorrectly, the drinker will result to amnesia, madness and eventually death."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Trust _him_ to be so overdramatic.

"But if I am not mistaken," she said frowning, looking him squarely in the eye. "That is rarely ever the case. Unless the brewer had tainted the venom with Sprigmatis sprouts or has laced it with melted silver, the chances of heated Acromantula venom turning lethal are _very slim_."

The class looked stunned at the new girl's audacity. Hermione smiled sheepishly and looked quickly at Harry and Ron, who gave her thumbs up.

"Oho" said Slughorn smiling broadly. "You are both correct! Ten points to Slytherin and Gryffindor."

Hermione smiled but Riddle hadn't said anything as he sauntered past her indifferently and sat down next to Malfoy who whispered something to him at once.

"Moving on," said Slughorn, straightening the collar of his velvet green robes. "Today's lesson will comprise every ounce of your brainpower, as it is one of the most complex potions you will ever come across."

Hermione sat up a little straighter on her stool.

"I've had special ministry permission to allow you to brew this potion, thanks to my excellent contacts with Walter Smervinshaft from the Department of Magical Brewery…"

Hermione snorted; trust _Slughorn_ to bring up with his 'excellent' contacts about a million times…

"Now, please take out your parchment and quills as the instructions will not be in your copies of _Advanced Potion-Making_".  
Slughorn tapped the blackboard with his wand and the title of the potion appeared—

"Polyjuice Potion!" gasped Hermione gleefully and everyone stared at her, including Slughorn.

"I daresay you've heard of it before, Miss Granger?" he asked, eyeing at her curiously.

"Only in passing sir," she lied quickly.

Slughorn gave her an approving nod.

"Now" he said, turning back to the rest of the class. "Does anybody _know_ what Polyjuice potion does?"

She thought she saw Riddle move as though to answer, but felt her arm shoot up as though it had a life of its own.

"Properly brewed, the Polyjuice Potion allows the drinker to transform himself temporarily into the physical form of another," she said swiftly. Slughorn's eyebrows were in danger of rising off his forehead and getting lost in his thatched head.

"Well done, Miss Granger," he said bemusedly, "take another ten points."

"Now!" he said moving closer to the blackboard behind his desk, "In accordance to Golpalott's Second Law, which, by the way, can anybody—?"

Hermione's fist was in the air again with lightning speed.

"Golpalott's Second Law states that any potion with equally multiplied ingredients will still retain its exact effects as in its original form," said Hermione. "However, if the ingredients are unevenly proliferated, the result will not be the same"

"Excellent, Miss Granger!" trilled Slughorn. "_Marvelous_, take another five."

He waved his wand again and the ingredients were listed on the blackboard.

"Although brewing Polyjuice Potion will not apply to your N.E.WT.S examination in June, theoretical questions have been known to surface in the written tests. Now without further ado, you may start brewing!"

Hermione quickly set up her cauldron and jabbed the base with her wand to light it.

Phyllis had gone to gather up the ingredients from the front while Jacob and Jack were busying themselves with setting up their collapsible cauldrons.

"_Augumenti_!" she muttered and water appeared from her wand into the cauldron.

Just when her water was coming to a boil, a lacewing fly made contact with the side of her face.

She glared at the direction where it came from.

"Hermione!" mouthed Harry, motioning her to come over with his hands. She sighed and walked over to their table, avoiding the arbitrarily setting of the cauldrons in her path.

"If you think I'm going to help you after all that cheating last year, then you have some nerve," she told him frigidly.

Harry waved an impatient hand. "Listen" he said quietly, as Ron leaned in, too. "The reason why Riddle found out about Horcruxes was because Slughorn told him"

"So it's your mission, Hermione, to try to get invited to old-Sluggy's party!" piped Ron.

She frowned.

"You've got to be joking."

Harry shook his head furiously and Hermione saw that he was trying to hide a grin.

"Me and Ron are hopeless at potions—always have been, so there's absolutely no way in Merlin's gum disease that we can be his favorites."

"And Harry isn't famous in this era, either," added Ron, batting away a loose lacewing fly that had decided to come alive again and was attempting to fly up his nose. "So the only one who can do it right, is you!"

Hermione's frowned deepened.  
"In case if you hadn't noticed," she whispered angrily, "Slughorn's already got his Potions Prince—if Riddle does better than me, then he'll have eyes for no-one else".

"Then it's obvious what you have to do then," said Harry impatiently, picking the wings off his flies. "You've got to out-perform Riddle today and become his favorite!"

"That's what you wanted to do anyway, isn't it?" asked Ron shrewdly.

"But, But..."

"You can be Slughorn's new Potions Prodigy!" chortled Ron.

"OK, Ok," said Hermione, as she watched Riddle cutting up his ingredients with a debonair air  
"I'm going, I'm going." She turned to leave.

"—then you can take your place beside him as King and Queen Slug!" laughed Ron.

"_What!?_"

Ron gave her a little encouraging nudge forwards "Come on, you're giving him a Head start—get it? _Head_—"

"—_alright, alright I'm going!"_

...

Hermione jogged over to her cauldron and chopped up her ingredients as fast as she could.  
"Stir in fluxweed after making a well in the centre…," she muttered and was relieved when the potion had turned out grey instead of blue, like nearly everyone else's potion.

"Ladies and gentleman," called Slughorn, emerging from the front of the class and setting down a large vat of slightly bubbling, mud-like substance. "Since it's against ministry approval to allow students to consume Polyjuice Potion, we'll have to clear everything up by the end of the bell." The class groaned in disappointment.

"However, I wanted to show you what the finished product would have looked like and its effects on a person." All twenty eyes were now fixed on Slughorn in excitement as he pulled out a tiny bottle from his velvet jacket. "Martina Kimble, second year, from Ravenclaw" he added as he scooped out a tumbler-full of potion.

"See how the potion changes colour as I add the hairs?" he asked "each person has a unique colour—oho, see how this has changed to a blue-green?" The potion had indeed changed into disgusting looking mucus and Slughorn held it up at eye level, then to everyone's surprise, he chugged the entire contents of the tumbler down.

"Sir, I thought you said it was illegal!" said Harry laughing.

"Yes, but I have _excellent_ contacts, I can get away—".Slughorn suddenly retched, alarming the class. His skin began to slide and wriggle, his gingery blond hair grew long and auburn, his bushy moustache shrunk along with his entire body, until—

"Oho!" cried an unrecognizable Slughorn in a high squeaky girlish voice. "See it? This is the effects of properly-brewed Polyjuice Potion!"

The class applauded enthusiastically. Ron let out a wolf-whistle and everyone laughed—except for Riddle, who was having a whispered conversation with Malfoy.

Hermione tore her gaze from a much prettier-looking Slughorn and edged closer to the edge of her table and stained her ears.

"—Friday night at eleven-thirty in the classroom opposite Moaning Myrtle's should be empty," Riddle was saying in a low voice as he leaned over, pretending to borrow a pair of silver scales "—spread the word and make sure that you use the route behind the blue spangled tapestry in front of that statue of Lachlan the Lanky, unless you wish to be caught."

"—I SAY!" said a girl's voice in her ear, scaring Hermione half to death. "Look at the state of your potion!" Phyllis was looking at Hermione's brew.

"Oh my…" Hermione's Polyjuice potion had turned an acid green instead of grey.

She quickly added in knot grass and stirred it anticlockwise five times precisely and breathed in relief as her potion turned back to normal.

She quickly glanced at Riddle's concoction and mentally swore when the contents in his cauldron had turned a beautiful shade of teal grey—exactly what the instructions said was meant to look like.

"Jane!" called Harry and Ron in a strangled whisper, waving their hands frantically to grab her attention. They pointed at the girl-Slughorn that was moving around the classroom, cauldron to cauldron, inspecting its contents with a grin and a few comments.  
"Hurry!" mouthed Ron, gesturing openly at Riddle's potion with his hands.

"I can't catch up!" she mouthed back. "He's too fast!" She acted out running with her arms.

Harry mimed waving a wand and an explosion with his hands. Her eyes grew round as she stared at Riddle's potion. Even though she had caught up with everyone else's potion, he was still ahead of everyone and looked nearly finished with his work.

Without thinking it through properly, Hermione turned her back to Riddle and jabbed her wand in the crook of her folded arms, aimed it at his perfect potion and whispered, "_Detoniafy!"_

Instantly, Riddle's cauldron exploded into pieces, spraying spectacularly upwards and soaking everyone at his table with bubbling sludge. Hermione faked shock and covered her mouth with a shaking hand.

"Oh Dear!" she said with a phony gasp. "Good gracious Riddle, are you alright?"

A very soaked Voldemort shook out some gunk out of his wavy hair and ignored her. She could see at the corner of her eye that Harry, Ron, Dean and Percivas were shaking with laughter.

"Tom, Tom, what happened?" asked a very anxious looking girl-Slughorn, running over and skidding on the mess on the floor .  
"Sorry, Miss Granger," he squeaked, as he grabbed her by the neck to stop himself from toppling over his tiny girly feet.

"Argh, that's alright, sir," she choked, gasping for real this time.

"I really haven't a clue what had happened, professor," replied Riddle politely, casting scourgify to leave him looking squeaky-clean and well-groomed again—not that he looked very dreadful when he was all soaking—

Hermione shook her head furiously. What the _devil_ was wrong with her?

"—one moment I was adding Bicorn Horn to my cauldron and the next, it'd exploded in my face."

Nott let out a pitiful whimper, his face had turned a deep shade of burnt red.

"Off to the Hospital wing, Nott, Malfoy, Mulciber…" said Slughorn absently and they left without another word. He flipped his long, glossy tresses over his shoulder, huffing.

"Are you sure you're alright, Tom?" he said anxiously.

"That potion only grazed the side of my face, but most of it went everywhere else," he shrugged carelessly. "Rather lucky. Had I not been watching Miss Granger's disastrous attempt at brewing, then I think I would have ended up blind."

Hermione looked at her own cauldron and gasped. It had turned a violent shade of _purple_!

She whipped her head back at Riddle and found that he was smirking.

_"You—!"_

"Oh Miss Granger, Miss Granger!" said Slughorn shaking his head ruefully, he turned back to his star pupil, "Tom, why don't you help Miss Granger put it right?"

She felt her face go rigid.

Then stared pleadingly at Riddle, hoping that he was ungentlemanly enough to decline…

"Certainly, Professor," he said with a courteous little bow, eyes shining malevolently.

"Good, good. Her first lesson, you know," said Slughorn, patting Hermione on the back genially and batting his long dark lashes uncharacteristically, so everyone else at her table laughed..

"Merlin's beard!" he yelped, when Ron's potion started shooting pink sparks over the other side of the dungeon. He hitched up his too-big trousers and ran to him.

"Stuff you, Riddle," hissed Hermione, when Voldemort perched himself on the edge of her table.  
"How _dare_ you sabotage my work!"

"If you call that sabotaging your work, then what would you suggest I call _your_ ministrations upon mine?" he coldly replied, grabbing her silver knife and cutting up Boomslang skin.  
Tom had spent nearly an hour and a half producing one of the most difficult potions in his life, cutting up the ingredients to perfection—he even thought of stealing some after class for his own use. But now this idiotic girl had exploded his hard work and ruined his plans.

"I call it a well-timed accident," the wench replied, smirking.

"I suppose you felt like showing me up in class today?" he asked coldly.

"And it looked like I was going to until you _pulverized_ my potion."

"Well then," he said icily, folding his arms. "Now that you've made your point, will you cease attempting to ruin my life?"

"You are so melodramatic," she scoffed. "'_Ruin my life'_, honestly!"

"Why don't you just sit down and let me do all the work?" snapped Riddle, "because you seem to be making _so _much progress…"

Hermione glared at Riddle's arrogantly cold expression. Her hands closed around the handle of her knife—if only she could get Slughorn to turn his back…

"Don't even think about it," said Riddle warningly, as though he'd read her mind.

"So very, _very_ tempting," she growled, tightening her grip on the sharp weapon.

"If you do then I'll—"

"What?' she said with a laugh. "Tell on me?"

"No," he said evilly. "I'll just make sure today will be your last day as Head Girl."

"Humph, like that's enough to stop me shaving you bald with this," she scoffed, twirling the dagger dangerously.

Riddle glared at her opened his mouth to retort.

"Time's up!" called Slughorn, jovially. "Please empty out your cauldrons—there will be no homework today." The class dashed madly to the door in front of them as though Slughorn had told him that he was going to give them venereal disease.

Riddle gave Hermione a look of deepest loathing and strode out of the classroom in cold disdain without a second glance.

"Jane: one, Riddle: _negative three_," she muttered to herself, scooping up her books.

"Hey, good stuff today, Jane!" said Harry at the door. "Listen, me and Ron are going to run off to the try-outs now, d'you want to come, tonight?"

"No, you go ahead. I need to get my invite," she replied, waving off her friends with a triumphant grin.

Hermione lapsed into thoughtful silence as she stared at her potion which was still bright-purple in colour from Riddle's tampering when she wasn't looking.

"I can fix that later," she murmured, vanishing the potion along with her cauldron.

She looked around the class; she was the only one there, apart from a Hufflepuff boy who was sniffing the contents of his cauldron. She glanced at Slughorn who had turned himself back to his normal form by taking an antidote to the potion.

Hermione whispered a very quiet apology before she shot the explosion incantation at the Hufflepuff's potion; it burst in front of his face.

"Yeeaaaaaahh!" howled the boy as his hot potion drenched him head to toe.

Slughorn let out a muffled cry and rushed to the boy who was on the ground, writhing.

"There, there, Aubrey," he said soothingly, helping him up, "let's get you to the hospital wing then, shall we?"

He walked Aubrey out of the door. "Miss Granger, could I possibly ask you to clear out Aubrey's cauldron for me?" he asked as he passed her.

"Certainly, Professor," said she graciously and Slughorn beamed approvingly.

"Ah, many thanks Miss Granger, have a _wonderful_ afternoon."  
He bounced out the door with a whimpering Aubrey before halting and to glance back at Hermione thoughtfully.  
"By the way," the jolly professor grinned, "I would like it very much if you should attend some of my Slug parties during some time during this year. Such marvelous knowledge you exhibit, m'dear, simply marvelous".

Hermione laughed with glee and she leapt up to do a bit of a war-dance.

"Potions Prodigy!" she sang, happily "and on the way to Slug Queen!"

With Slughorn gone, she felt a familiar reckless energy. Looking around hastily to make sure that she was the only one left in the dungeon, Hermione ran quickly up to Slughorn's desk at the front and conjured up a jar.

She swiftly plunged the open jar into the vat of Polyjuice Potion Slughorn had forgotten to vanish until the jar was filled to the top.

"Thanks for the idea, Draco," she purred, screwing on the lid and dashing out of the room, smiling ear to ear.

* * *

...

* * *


	12. Dwindlelling Divination

* * *

_A/N:_

_Dearest readers,_

_I've had a great time writing the last chapter and I hope you had just as much fun reading it! After having read some of the other fics where Hermione is portrayed as being unsurpassable in potions, I've decided that she needed to mess up, only if for one time, because it's only healthy... And who better to help her then Tom Riddle? _

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

**Dwindling Divination...**

* * *

...

* * *

Hermione hurried to the second floor and burst through Moaning Myrtle's bathroom to check that her stashed illegal potion from yesterday afternoon's Potions class was still carefully hidden in the same cubicle in her second year.

"Allo, Myrtle!" she said cheerfully to the glum-faced ghost.

"Oh, how do you know me?" she said, her glasses flashing suspiciously.

"Um, the Head girl knows everything," said Hermione shortly. "Say, how've you been, since you know…two years ago?"

"What?" she demanded, "you mean since I died?" She hovered to the ground where Hermione was standing. "Brilliant!" she said sarcastically "I've been hiding in here, ready to haunt that awful Olive Hornby at every opportunity I get. The silly way she runs out screaming every time I pop out of the toilet she's about to use. But oh, no," she cried sulkily, "no one ever cares about how poor and lonesome dead Myrtle feels, they only care about Olive Horny!"

"Um, I suppose I can, er, try to get her into detention for teasing you about your glasses," said Hermione hesitantly. "It _is _against the rules to pester the dead"

"You would do that?" asked Myrtle, blinking through her pearly glasses. She shrugged and the ghost cackled. "Good!" she cried "oh, I think I hear her using the upstairs toilets—!"  
Before Hermione could protest, Moaning Myrtle had ascended through the ceiling.

* * *

Hermione had arrived a few minutes early for her first lesson of the day—Divination. Class was taken place at the top of the North Tower and the room looked remarkably the same as ever. She wrinkled her nose at the heavy, dewy perfume and walked over to the far end of the circular room by the window, carefully avoiding the scattered poufs and circular round tables.  
Here, she took out her borrowed copy of _Depicting your Destiny_ by Elian Fuddle and rifled through the pages absently and making lofty observations at various theories.

Ten minutes later the little circular tower was filled with eighteen chattering students.  
Phyllis Pemberly was waving at Hermione, beckoning her to join her Hufflepuff friends at their table, when the sight of a tall, dark-haired and good-looking Slytherin walked into the room.

Hermione looked back at Phyllis, but found that she was distracted by the sight of Tom Riddle. He ignored the lot of them and strode to the table behind, sitting with his back to them. Immediately, the Slytherins in the class flitted to his side.

"You know, I don't think anyone would notice your drooling if they lived beyond a mile radius," whispered Hermione, smirking. Phyllis' eyes snapped into focus and grinned guiltily

"I know he's a Slytherin and a complete cad," she whispered, "but he's rather good to look at, you know?"

"Of course," said Hermione looking at her patronizingly, "to each her own…"

"Come off it, Jane," she laughed, causing her pointed hat to fall off her chestnut hair, "you can't lie and say he's not extraordinarily handsome, with all that delicious dark hair and those eyes…"

"Ooh, so he has eyes," she smirked. "That's got to be something special."

"You know what I mean," said Phyllis, turning pink. "They're so deep, so mysterious, like you never know what's behind them…"

"Optical fibers and grey sludge?"

"What he's _thinking,_ dear," she breathed and gave a dramatic sigh. "And the way he looks at things as though he's scrutinizing your very soul—"

Hermione craned her neck to see the object of Phyllis Pemberly's lust.

"Please excuse me while I throw up," she said politely and pretended to retch under the table.

Phyllis slapped her on the shoulder, jokingly. "Laugh all you want, Miss Granger" she said smiling. But one day you'll be eating your very own words—"

"—Hopefully they'll be devoid of the contents of yesterday's dinner," Hermione quipped.

Professor Abigail Plight was a short, thin, middle-aged witch who wore tie dyed robes of plum and olive. She gave off a sense of radicalism with her blue scarf tied as a headband around her curly dirty blond locks and her numerous beaded necklaces around her long throat.

"Hmm, I didn't know there were Wizarding hippies..." murmured Hermione, looking fondly at the rainbow clad, professor.

Although she detested Divination to the point of tantrum, Hermione couldn't help but feel that today's lesson was almost _fun._ The reason being was because this gave her an innocent opportunity for business.

When Plight had told them to separate into pairs in order to revise on the basic readings of tea leaves, Hermione literally jumped out of her chair, sucked in her breath and tapped The Heir of Slytherin on the shoulder sharply.

He took his time turning to face her, with cold disdain written on his face.  
"What do you want, Granger?" he said in clipped tones.

"You."

Hermione blushed when Riddle's eyebrow shot up.

"As my Divination partner, of course," she snapped hastily, her insides cringing with embarrassment.

He gave her a very superior look. "I don't think so Granger," he said pleasantly. "Because between you and me, I think death is preferable than being in your company for half an hour."

"I'll take my chances, then," she bit off, then forced a painful smile.

Riddle looked at her appraisingly through narrowed his eyes. "What do you _really_ want, Granger?" he said quietly.

Hermione felt her insides turn glacial but was spared answering when Professor Plight called across the room.

"Miss Granger, what is the matter? Are you in short of a partner?"

She gave Riddle a wicked grin and blinked politely at the concerned teacher.

"Yes, Professor," she gushed, making her eyes grow wide in attempt to look most earnest. " I was just asking if Mr. Riddle could help me read my tea leaves. I haven't the sufficient practice and heard he was the top of his class." She paused and faked a look of hurt. "But he told me that he'd rather die a horrible, horrible death rather than help an ignorant fool like me".  
It killed her so say that, but Hermione felt it was worth it to see Lord Voldemort look coldly indignant.

"Tom!" said a shocked professor Plight. "Come, now! Surely you could help the Head girl catch up in today's class—?"

"I'd be delighted," Riddle managed through gritted teeth. Hermione beamed.

"Now that that's settled, off to your tables then, move on!" The class separated to separate tea tables.

Hermione moved directly to her original table in front of the window, and patted the seat enthusiastically in front of her. Riddle rolled his eyes and sat down, looking anywhere but at her.

"Shall I pour the tea?" she asked brightly, loving the fact that she was annoying him greatly.

His focus snapped on her face. "The what?" he snapped, folding his arms belligerently.

"Tea," she repeated coolly. "You know, like leaves in boiling water?" Without waiting for a reply, she summoned a blue china teapot and two matching teacups from the shelves with a casual flick with her wand.

She hastily poured the steaming liquid into his cup. "You go first," she grinned, pushing it to him.

Riddle looked suspicious but sipped it carefully, then set the cup back down. Without invitation, Hermione took his teacup, swirled it with a teaspoon and moved the cup upside down on his sauc,er.  
Oh how fun it was to bait him!

"Let's see what the future holds for you, Mr. Riddle," she murmured, peering at the leaves. Hermione glanced down and let out a tiny scream.

"Riddle!" she gasped, her brown eyes growing wide. "You, you have the—the—"she broke off, squeezing her eyes as though in mortal agony and shaking her head.

She knew he was startled, if not downright alarmed.

"The what?" he said, with no trace of fear in his cool voice.  
Hermione forced herself to swallow convulsively, she took a deep breath. "I see death in your future," she whispered, "I see—_the Grim_!" Her eyes flew open dramatically.

Riddle's face bore no trace of a reaction as he observed her closely, scrutinizing her and trying to find—_there_ it was…she was a horribly poor liar...

"Your left eye is twitching, Granger," he said coldly, "and you should know that lies do not work on me"

"Oh, so you know Legilimency?" she said, unperturbed.

"Not yet," he said, frosting her with a glare. "But I needn't anyway, since you are by far the worst liar I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

Ouch. Thought Hermione, grimly, but then again, she wasn't exactly lying.

"You should know then, Riddle," she said frostily, her voice laced with acid, "that it was a joke. It wasn't a very tasteful , I'll admit. But it was nevertheless one"

"Ha- ha," he said sarcastically. To his surprise, she chuckled with humility.

"You should be finished reading your tea leaves by now!" called Professor Plight. "We shall be revising on palmistry, followed by reading bird entrails next lesson, then commence on the art of crystal-ball gazing for the _rest of this month_!"

Hermione sighed heavily through her nose in irritation. _What a waste of time_, she thought, ruffled.

Riddle seemed to have read her thoughts because he leaned back on his chair, watching her carefully.  
"If you didn't like this class, then you should have moved to Muggle Studies," he said dispassionately.

"It's not that I don't like it. It's because this is a ridiculous subject," she hissed. "Rather than being based on solid, sensible, verifiable fact, it's entirely based on a foundation of convoluted conjecture, guesswork and hocus-pocus rubbish."

Riddle raised his brows. "Some might say you're less sensible, yourself, than you let on."

Hermione jutted her chin out defensively. "I am by far the most sensible person I know" she boasted. "Why, it's positively my first, middle _and_ last name…I am reveled for it back in my old school, even to the point of worship!"

Riddle gave her an amused look beneath his lashes that made her heart thunder. "Is that so?"

"Yes," declared Hermione impressively. "My fellow classmates even made an effigy of me in my third year…they stuck a brown wig onto a book and burned it at the stake."

Well, it had actually been Ron who did it out of vengeance for his Scabbers, but close enough...

For a moment she thought she saw Riddle's cheek twitch but couldn't tell for he had taken another sip of tea, taking care to cover his mouth.

She quickly stopped talking when Plight walked by their table, rearranging her beads and shooting her a suspicious look. Hermione quickly grabbed one of Riddle's hands which were lying carelessly on the table and pried then apart. He stiffened and made a sharp movement to pull away, but she held on firmly.

"You can maim me some other time," she muttered,"but let's just get this over and done with".  
He shrugged nonchalantly and relaxed, though still watching her carefully.  
His rich midnight hair was flecked with amber from the sun through the open window, casting alluring shadows on his chiseled face and hollowed cheekbones. He looked utterly handsome like a dark knight who had the determined awareness of a predator, searching for his prey upon his black steed.  
Hermione felt her face turn beet red at the realization that her imagination was again running wild, this time doing cartwheels naked on the lawn.  
...Perhaps she was going to eat her own words sooner than Phyllis expected…

"Snap out of it, girlie," muttered Hermione, giving her head a little shake.  
_Lord Voldemort, The Dark Lord, _Hermione chanted in her head to remind herself who the dangerous man in front of her was,_ the evil wizard, destroyer of families, nemesis of Harry, Slytherin's Heir, black hair…_

She sighed. This was going to be a long day…

Tom watched as Jane blushed when she realized she was touching his hand. For some reason, he was momentarily transfixed with the way soft, errant strands of her light brown hair fell around her face from her loose bun on top of her head. The daylight behind her from the window illuminated the stray strands, making them look almost golden.

After a moment, Jane pursed her soft red rips in annoyance. "This is strange," she muttered, examining his left palm closely.

"And why's that?" he asked coolly. "Do you see another Grim?"

She looked up and glared at him from under her thick dark lashes, "I'm more surprised that for someone with such a cold heart, your hands are equally just as cold—it seems to undermine that cliché, doesn't it? But actually, you have two lifelines, is that normal?"

He looked down at his own hand and for the first time, noticed that there were indeed two lines on his hand.

"Well I'll be," he said indifferently, running a hand through his hair. "I have a wrinkle on my hand"

She shot him a look of disdain and returned to her examination. Tom shivered when she ran a forefinger along the lines of his hand, murmuring to herself. It didn't feel quite horrid, staying with her. In fact, he thought it was almost amusing, sitting here with Jane Granger on a little table in front of a window, deciphering his fortune. A light breeze blew through the window, causing her hair to ruffle attractively.

_Attractively?_ What the ruddy hell was going on with him?

For a moment he glared at her bent head as she concentrated, trying to figure out why this was the case.

Hermione peered at Lord Voldemort's hand, pretending her best to mask her apprehension. She felt her stomach squirm and her heart pound as she ran her index finger along his heart line, though in truth, she knew he didn't have one.

She muttered to herself for a little while, occasionally telling him what she saw. "Your Head line starts from under the index finger—you're terribly brilliant"... "According to this, you shall become quite successful as you hold the gift of negotiation, am I right?"

When she glanced up at him, Hermione saw that he was scrutinizing her closely. She gulped. And bit her lip. Even though she was considered the most brilliant witch of her age back in her own time, that didn't mean she was apt to working under pressure. Especially when it was under the sharp gaze of a devastatingly handsome dark-haired and steely eyed Tom Riddle, the future Dark Lord.

Hermione shuddered, refusing to be intimidated by this black-haired brute.

"Er, you know," she said in an off-hand voice. "I met a really friendly ghost this morning. I think her name was Myrtle."

"Indeed?" he said, fixing her with his cool gaze. Instantly, she knew she had said the wrong thing, but felt that it was quite necessary to go on.

"Yes, she said something about dying in the bathroom…funny isn't it?" she pressed on, now watching him closely for a reaction.

He didn't answer, just stared at her icily.

Hermione knew the bell was going to ring any moment now, so she threw all caution off the broomstick and plunged on recklessly.  
"She said she might have seen who it was that killed her. Someone who was connected to the Chamber—"

"You're not still going on about me being connected to the ruddy Chamber again, are you?" he said haughtily.

Ha. So Riddle assumed that she thought the only connection he had to the Chamber of Secrets was him catching the culprit?

Hermione fixed him with a serious stare "What are you doing again this Friday, Riddle?"

There was a long beat of silence as they both glared at each other over the small rickety table.

The bell suddenly rang to signal the end of class and they both jumped.

Riddle, drew his hand back in contempt and walked back to his own table where he grabbed his bag and stormed through the trapdoor without a backward glance.

"Strike number two," Hermione mumbled to herself, getting up from the table with a slight wince and meeting Phyllis Pemberly by the trapdoor who was surely about to bombard her with hundreds of questions about Tom Riddle.

* * *

...

* * *


	13. Twitchy Transfiguration

A/N:

_A/N:_

_Hi everyone_

_I've never read a fic that had a Transfiguration lesson with Dumbledore teaching before, so I've decided to dedicate this chapter for him! Please leave a review at the end of the chapter because I would truly wish to hear your opinion of the it._

_ Did you like it? Or hated it? Or thought it couldn't possibly be worth remembering after two hours? Tell me! :)  
_

_W.R _

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen:**

**Twitchy Transfiguration...**

* * *

...

* * *

As they waited for Professor Dumbledore for Transfiguration, Ron and Harry took no time in discussing their tryouts with Hermione since they had arrived much earlier.

"It was bloody brilliant, Hermione!" exclaimed Ron. "Really, I thought them Slytherin blokes were gong to start singing 'Weasley is our King', but they _actually_ kept their mouths shut."

"Why on earth would they sing that?" asked Hermione, amused. "They don't know the words, let alone your real name."

He waved his hands impatiently, missing Harry's nose by half an inch. "Well, Malfoy, if you hadn't noticed, looks _exactly_ like Draco," he said, as though he were explaining the obvious. "Anyway, I think I got into the team."

"I'm sure you did," said Harry, nodding encouragingly.

"How did you go, Harry?" she asked, before checking around to make sure they were alone.

"He was brilliant, of course," said Ron, airily, "could give our whole family a run for their money."

Harry shrugged modestly, "It'll be a drat having to play for Slytherin, but at least I'm playing Quidditch again."

"It was so awesome when you whacked that Bludger at Malfoy," chortled Ron, "then caught that Snitch instead of him!"

"I don't expect he liked that very much," said Hermione wryly.

Harry grinned "so what did you get up to since we were at Quidditch?" he dropped his voice. "What's Riddle up to?"

Hermione quickly told him about the stolen Polyjuice potion from yesterday, hiding it in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and Riddle in Divination this morning.

"He was actually surprisingly amiable," she said, shrugging, "but when I mentioned about Myrtle and told him that I knew about the Chamber, he completely flipped out."

"I can't imagine why," Ron said dryly.

"I wonder why we can't just tell Dumbledore about it…" muttered Harry.

"Harry we can't!" whispered Hermione, her eyes growing large. "He'd get chucked out of school and then be more likely to sink further into the Dark Arts and sink revenge on Dumbledore and the school!"

Harry was about to say something, but Ron stood on his toe, looking pointedly at the end of the corridor where about a dozen students had were walking towards Dumbledore's class.

……..

They spent a highly enjoyable lesson with Dumbledore that day. The wizard had come to class as an auburn colored rabbit and Transfigured himself back with a loud pop.

This was met by a loud applause from everyone with the exception of Riddle and his friends, of course.

"Human Transfiguration!" said Dumbledore loudly with a bright smile. "Although this task is proven to be extremely tricky, it is not an impossible one—could be a little grueling even—but desperately fun, nonetheless!"

"I love his class," said Ron chuckling. "I wish we had him instead of McGonagall, would've made life better!"

They were divided into random groups in front of mirrors to practice. Hermione had been placed into a group with Malfoy, Ron, Phyllis and Riddle.

Screwing up all of her concentration, Hermione had managed to turn herself into a long-haired brown rabbit on her fifth attempt, earning her a twenty-point bonus for Gryffindor.

Riddle, unfortunately managed to turn himself into a glossy black rabbit on his fifth attempt as well, earning Slytherin the same number of points for his house.

A twinkling Dumbledore had asked Hermione and Riddle to race around the small obstacle that he'd created near the end of the lesson to every student's delight.

His obstacle included small piles of books here and there for them to climb and leap over and a nice little wooden slide near the finish line.

Hermione was rather quick as a bunny and was in the lead from the start. Just as she edged around the mirrors, Riddle the rabbit was gaining fast on her. Hermione felt sure that she would never have been able to beat anything in a race besides a dead Flobberworm— had she been in her usual form—and Riddle appeared to be in very fine shape enough to be an exceptional athlete if he'd chosen to be.

Just as she darted from behind the third mirror, Hermione felt an excruciatingly itchiness that startled her and made her stumble, rolling quickly headfirst into a side table.

The class cheered when Riddle reached the finishing line and Hermione glared at him—or at least stared at him through her rabbit's eyes as he merely wriggled his pinkish nose at her adorably.

Miserable wretch, she thought mutinously.

Dumbledore quickly transfigured them back into their human forms amidst cheers and Hermione stalked past Tom Riddle with her nose in the air to her Dormitory, ignoring Harry and Ron's calls after her.

...

Hermione banged open the bathroom door, ignoring its extreme elegant ivory and gold tiles, golden ceilings and the humungous swimming pool sized in-ground bath with hundreds of different jeweled taps. Unlike the prefect bathroom, the Heads bathroom's walls were filled with the most extraordinary body products. She picked up a Self-Shaving razor from one of the golden mirrored cabinets and examined it for a moment.

Hermione suddenly had the maddest urge to use it to scratch her back that was itchy as though she had—

"FLEAS!"

She screamed when she saw her own reflection and used her wand to use a vanishing spell on her shoulders that were full of ghastly insects.

"I'll KILL that Malfoy!" she vowed, casting a clever Hygiene Charm on herself.

Hermione thought she ought to change her clothes before dinner, so she headed to her dorm.

Pulling out a clean white sleeveless dress that the Transfiguration professor had donated to her, Hermione pulled her head through, still absently scratching, cursing under her breath as she sniffed under her arms.

"I smell like a wet sock," Hermione mumbled and sprayed on some of the rosewater she found from her old trunk.

Hermione heard a slam from the portrait hole. Straightening up, she squared her shoulder and walked outside with as much dignity as she could muster to greet the scoundrel.

"Riddle!" she barked, coming down the stairs. Tom, who had barely passed the fireplace, glanced up in frosty expectancy.

Incidentally, he had been trying to avoid her all day ever since Divination, where she implicated that she knew that he was linked to that imbecile Moaning Myrtle's freak accident and the opening of the Chamber of Secrets.

He knew that she wasn't going to prattle to the authoritative figures, as no-one would believe a new pupil—even if she was Head Girl—over a model, perfect student.  
But it still was a set back that this Jane-girl knew one of his deepest darkest secrets, or suspected it at the very least.

"I didn't realize that as Head Boy and Girl, we had to dress-up in bed sheets to attend school dinners," Tom remarked coolly, eyeing her dress. In truth he thought she looked rather attractive, with her hair piled over the left shoulder in long flowing curls.

Hermione planted her hands on her hips and scowled.

"The reason why I'm wearing this stupid dress in the first place," she snapped, "is because your hooligan of a friend decided it would behoove him to shower me with _fleas_!"

Tom fought a made desire to laugh in her face. _'Let's see how little Miss Granger takes it if I have a fit of laughter,' _he thought wickedly. But then it would mean that she would retaliate by bringing up more of his transgressions, so he thought it better to just play calm.

"So," Tom said slowly, trying to sound sensible. "I suppose you're telling me this because you think I had something to do with your crabs?"

"Fleas!" she hissed, clenching her fists. "And I know that I'd have won that race if Malfoy hadn't _cheated_ for you—"

He raised a hand.

"Stop," he said coldly, eyes narrowing. "It is not my fault if my dimwitted friends decide to oppress you, but don't you ever accuse me of taking any part in what they take pleasure in doing."

Hermione didn't like the way Riddle looked at the moment; she was surprised that anyone could look so angry and so cold at the same time. His eyes resembled ice chips and his lips had formed a very thin white line.

She started to feel a little uneasy but bluffed her way through.

Folding her arms she glared down at him from the stairs.

"My dear Mr. Riddle," she said, through gritted teeth."Have you any idea what it _feels _like to be infested with blood-sucking parasites, leeching the life out of you?"

Tom mentally pictured one of his Death Eaters with feelers, six legs and pincers.  
Malfoy, somehow, stood out in his imagination.

"Well," he said slowly, trying to deliberate the question. "Technically they're humans, not lice…so I suppose not."

Hermione threw up her hands in despair, "What can I do to make you take me seriously?" she asked in exasperation.

"I already do," he said seriously, looking at her squarely in the eye. "But it just so happens that I do not appreciate it when people accuse me for something I hadn't taken any part in."

"No," said Hermione in a low voice. "Because that's _your_ specialty, isn't it?"

Poor Hagrid who turned an orphan when he was twelve was forced to be expelled for this horrible louse and his prejudices.

Tom's face turned cold and disdainful—a perfect replica of Lord Voldemort's face.

"Since you are plainly determined to loathe me," he snarled, "let me make it clear to you that I think you are the most deplorable being of my acquaintance and it's utterly _pathetic_ the way you try to compete with me in class when we both know that your pitiful memorizations that are completely devoid of sense is nothing compared to _me._"

Her lips parted with shock and anger. _That arrogant git! _She thought furiously.

_And I was trying to stop Ron from throwing him off the Astronomy Tower…_

When she didn't say anything, Tom, thinking that he had won, spun around and stalked out the door.

Just as he was about to close it, he heard her voice, rigid and icy.

"I don't just loathe you, Riddle," she hissed venomously. He saw that she was trying to keep her eyes from turning overly bright. "I despise you in every way a human-being can, which incidentally, is more than I can say for what _you_ are."

He left without another word in cold fury.

* * *

"Alright, change of plans," barked Hermione, swinging her bag roughly on the Gryffindor table, sending a plate of stroganoff crashing.

Ron yelped and leapt back. "Hermione, _that was my dinner_!" he yelped.

"Stop your whining, Weasley," she snapped, looking extremely dangerous. "Listen, and listen well, because I am not going to repeat, so don't you dare interrupt!"

Harry and Ron stared at her alarmed as if she had sprouted three heads.

"Tomorrow is Friday," she said, taking deep breaths and seating her self in front of them. "I am going to use the stolen potion and spy on that idiot Riddle during his Death Eater meeting."

"What's wr—?" began Harry. Hermione shot him a dark look.

"Abraxas Malfoy," she uttered under one breath, looking murderous.

"Ah," said Ron, looking uncomfortable and poking at a steak with his fork. "Was that because of him giving you fleas, or something this afternoon?"

Hers eyes snapped to him. "How did you know?" she demanded, having seriously considered taking that particular event to her grave.

She watched Harry and Ron exchange a dark look.

"We saw him miming you scratching with your feet," said Ron throwing a dirty look at the Slytherin table. Hermione followed his gaze and saw that Malfoy was laughing with his friends with his arm around a black-haired girl who was nuzzling him.  
It truly was a revolting sight.

Turning her attention back to her friends, Hermione decided to tell them the rest of her plan before her blissfully daydreaming about sweet, sweet, revenge.

"Right," she said belligerently. "Tomorrow night, you will somehow—I don't care how—you will _force_ Malfoy to come out to the dungeons, Snape's old corridor, to be precise, where I will Stun him and rip out his head—"

Hermione saw Harry and Ron's pained expressions and decided to check herself.

"—alright, his _hair_, then you will help me dispose the body—"

"Gee, Hermione" said Ron flinching, "you make it sound as if he's going to be murdered…

Hermione ignored him, though she privately marveled the idea.

"—and I will go up to the second floor to await for the rest of the Death Eaters."

"This plan of yours," said Harry, nervously, prodding at a pimple absent-mindedly. "Are you sure you can pull it off as Malfoy?"

Hermione stared at him, before she leapt out of her chair and began to walk with her arms at her sides, wrists bent to look like a duck.

"Oh, look at me!" she drawled loudly with a whiny edge, her nose turned to the ceiling and walking back and forth along the table flapping her hands ridiculously. "I'm an ugly, scrawny Albino piece of scab that hates Mudbloods because I'm deluded enough to think that Pure-bloodeness makes me superior…I like to kiss Riddle's rump because I think that when you kiss it, magic _transverses_ from his crack and into my mouth, making me even more hideous and delusional!"

Hermione stopped and turned around when she realized that the entire Hall had gone literally silent. She caught sight of Harry and Ron who both had their mouths hung open.

She stood there rock still for five seconds (though it felt like five centuries).

Then suddenly, a gigantic roar of laughter erupted around the Hall and Hermione stood there, shocked as everyone laughed themselves silly.

"Bah ha-ha!" cried a Hufflepuff boy, wiping a tear from his eye. "You _go_, Head girlfriend."

"Jane that was brilliant!" snickered Phyllis Pemberly, clutching her stomach. Hermione just stared at her blankly and turned her eyes to the rest of the school who had begun to clap.

She smiled blankly at the students and took off down to where Harry and Ron sat.

She glanced at Malfoy from the Slytherin table who looked like he was ready to murder her amidst the gales of laughter.  
'_Tsk, tsk'_, she thought gleefully. '_Even his girlfriend doesn't seem to want to be near him, right now'. _Along the table, she saw Riddle, looking calm and composed as always. He didn't seem to be laughing at Malfoy, but he wasn't exactly troubling himself to go out of his way to comfort him either.

She grinned and looked down at her plate.

It took almost five minutes before everyone settled down.

"Really 'My-ohne," said Ron with a mouthful of treacle tart. "We should really get Malfoy to get you riled up more often if it means making you unusually funny."

"Oh shut up, Won-Won."

* * *

...

* * *


	14. Sneaking in Lairs

.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank-you for all of your fantastic reviews!! I've read all of them and I am touched by _all_ of your comments. Truly am!

This makes it all worth while, writing for you. They made me laugh and cry so much!! I hope you enjoy _this_ chapter. There is much, much, _much_ more to come. Hope to hear your reviews xxx

W.R.

* * *

.

* * *

.

**Chapter 14**

**Sneaking in Lairs...**

.

* * *

...

Friday came at last and Hermione thought the day couldn't get any better.

They had Charms in the morning where she was forced to pair with Malfoy for Levitating Charms—it was only proper that all the Seventh year students revised on every subject from First to Sixth years during the first month at Hogwarts.

"Alright, there Granger?" sneered Malfoy as he released her far too quickly from the air so that she fell with a loud thump on a desk.

"I'm fine!" barked Hermione, straightening up. "Why do you ask?"

Dusting herself off, she gave an upright flick of her wand, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

Instantly, he zoomed up to the ceiling, so fast that his head cracked onto an over-hanging chandelier with a sickening crunch.

History of Magic proved to be duller than Hermione could ever had imagined and she spent the entire lesson watching Malfoy, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott, Mulciber and Lestrange as they fought a losing battle to stay awake in Binn's class. Hermione hadn't dared to sneak a peek at Riddle, for he was sitting a few seats behind her.

"Tonight!" she mouthed to her four friends. Ron nodded while Harry merely picked his nose.

.

Hermione, Harry and Ron were rather chatty during dinner at the Slytherin table; it appeared now that Harry and Ron were so popular at Hogwarts—it didn't seem to really matter where they sat; everyone were glad to welcome the new good-looking boys to sit with them.

"Jane, Jane, I'm talking to you..." Hermione tore her gaze from Tom Riddle, who was conversing to a group of girls who were listening avidly to whatever he was saying to them.

"Sorry, Harry," she whispered absently. "You were saying?"

Harry frowned and leaned his head in. "I went to the Room of Requirement this afternoon and tried to get my Dad's old Cloak and the Marauder's map for you—"

"Thanks, I forgot about them. They would definitely come in handy…"

"—but it didn't work, for some reason the Room didn't provide."

She stared. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, so I dunno…can you think of any reason why the Room's acting funny?" asked Harry, poking at a mushroom on his plate.

"I can," said Ron, which made them both stare at him in surprise. He shrugged, "You said it was your Dad's old Cloak, didn't you, Harry? So I suppose that it was probably passed down to him from his Grandad—"

"Dean?" asked Harry, dubiously. "Alright, and what about the Map?"

"Well, that I don't know," admitted Ron, "but you could just ask him."

"No," interrupted Hermione, "there's no need; I have the potion and that's a much better disguise. This way, I can actually ask for information without getting caught."

"One hou,r" said Harry, shaking his head, "that's—"

"More than enough to get through the meeting," said Hermione calmly. "Stop worrying, it'll be fine! I can look after myself, you know…"

Ron glanced at his gold watch. "Listen, Hermione, Harry and me have to run off to Quidditch practice—come along so you can rip out Malfoy's hair and stuff."

Hermione's eyes gleamed with barely suppressed malice and Ron and Harry looked uncomfortably at her.

It was a clear, starry night and she sat on one of the bleachers, watching her friends zooming about the pitch, either swinging a Beater's bat or practice saving Quaffles.

It became a little bit dull within five minutes, so Hermione thankfully had brought out her book bag and took out her homework to do.

"What the devil is _she_ doing here?" demanded Malfoy, as he zoomed past where she was sitting in the stands, his long white-blond hair whipping her face,

Hermione drew herself up, importantly. "As the Head Girl, I have the privilege or chaperoning the team, should anything happen to your team members that may put them out of action before your match—"

"—that's not until November!" yelled Mulciber, as he passed the Quaffle to another player.

"Be that as it may…" she started swiftly.

"Take it easy, Abraxas, she's with me, Sev and Barry," called Alphard Black, glaring at him from his Beater position

"Hey Black," said Malfoy, coolly. "Stay on those Bludgers if you want to stay on the team."

Alphard aimed a heavy blow at a flying Bludger towards Malfoy, missing him by an inch and smashing the handle of his broom.

"That was new!" hollered Abraxas toppling off it. "Did you see what he did?" he demanded at Hermione, who merely crossed her arms.

"Saw what?" she said coolly and Alphard beamed.

Malfoy swore and muttered. "I'm going to see if Slughorn can fix this," and hurried out the stadium.

"Aren't you afraid that Malfoy's going to kick you off the team if you keep destroying his brooms?" said Hermione sternly.

Black, still hanging off his Nimbus 500 shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin.

"Nah, he knows that the team needs me more than they need _him,_" he said indifferently. "Besides, Dad's friends with _his_ family so he has to suck up to _us_. _And_ Slughorn seems to like me more than Malfoy anyway," he gave a rascally titter that made her smile.

Truly, he reminded her of a more immature version of Sirius—like someone's younger brother, in an absurd way.

"Anyway," he smiled. "I'd better tell the team that our Captain's gone running off to another rump that he likes to smooch, so, I'll see you, later, Granger!"

"Wait," said Hermione quickly. "Can you tell Sev and Barry that I'm leaving…got something else I need to do. They know where to find me," She added with a rueful little smile.

Alphard grinned and zoomed off to find them as she grabbed her bag and dashed off after Malfoy.

* * *

Hermione hurried to the dungeons just in time to see Abraxas Malfoy walking out of Slughorn's office with a satisfied smirk. She ducked behind a pillar and waited for him to walk towards the entrance—her way.

She crouched down low and counted the seconds before he reached her; _five, six, seven, eight_ …

Leaping out she hissed. "_Stupefy!_" A burst of red light flashed from her wand.

"What the—?" she heard him mutter before he was knocked to the ground, completely immobile.

Smiling broadly, she walked over to him and levitated the lifeless form to a room where Snape had vacated fifty years in the future and dumped him on the floor.

"Hermione, is that you?" whispered a scared voice.

Harry and Ron appeared at the door, panting; Ron was holding a stitch at his side.

Hermione waved them in with a friendly smile. "Listen, couldn't keep a look out for me, could you?" she said and they happily obliged.

She reached down to Malfoy's head and tore out a few of his silvery-blond hair.

"Urgh, I can't believe you _touched_ him," said Ron with a shudder from the door.

"Shh! Harry, help me hide him in that broom cupboard."

With Harry's help, Hermione managed to shove Draco's grandfather into a musty, spidery closet full of dusty books and mouldy spare cloaks.

"Harry," mumbled Hermione, turning faintly pink. "Since I'm a girl, would you mind taking his clothes for me?"

He grinned. "It'll be my pleasure." Hermione turned her back while Harry yanked off Malfoy's robes, shoes and shirt "Good thing the git changed back into his uniform" he grinned thoughtfully as he snatched off the unconscious Abraxas' tie.

Ron came over and burst out laughing. "Nice underwear," he managed, tears of mirth running down his long nose.

Hermione looked and choked; Malfoy was wearing white cotton briefs with a pattern of Snitches. On the seat of them was something brown that she suspected was—

"Maybe he should cut down on the goulash a bit," sniggered Harry, pointing at the poo stains.

Hermione frowned and looked at her watch; it read 8:32 P.M.

"Alright, we're way ahead of schedule, so you two can go back and rejoin the team while I gather some things upstairs before I take the Polyjuice Potion, alright?"

Harry took out a packet in his pocket and gave it to Hermione

"Flash Powder," he said in a low voice. "Alphard Black confiscated this from a first year and gave it to me before."

Hermione stared "Why on earth did he give it to you?"

"Because he thought me and Ron should be able to use it on Malfoy sometimes for kicks," he shrugged. "I really think he ought to be in Gryffindor, instead of Slytherin."

Hermione nodded brusquely. "I'll tell you how it goes tonight, ok?" she said.

Ron gave her a weary chuckle. "Don't look so sad, Hermione, we'll take over next month, alright?"

"Give you a bit of a break, since you look like you could use a decent sleep sometime in November," added Harry.

"I'm touched by your mercy," said Hermione scathingly.  
"Good luck with training!" she added in a nicer tone and flitted out the door.

Ron turned to Harry. "Girl's gone insane since we've broken up," he said, paling.

"Maybe she's Bipolar," offered Harry helpfully and Ron slapped him with his Keeper's gloves.

* * *

Three hours later, Hermione crept out of the common room, fully dressed in the form of Abraxas Malfoy. When she got out of the portrait hole, Hermione began to jog quietly to the second floor, marveling at Malfoy's fit physique as she did so.

"Where the bleeding heck are they?" she wondered, looking into every room along her way. "This doesn't seem right…"

Hermione walked into the bathroom and spotted Myrtle by the sinks

"Oi, you," the ghost snapped, glaring at Hermione. "This is a _girl's_ bathroom, get out of here!"

"You haven't seen any Slytherins, have you?" she asked quickly. "They were meant to have some sort of meeting…"

"Yes," said Myrtle with a devilish grin. "I thought I saw them up on the _North _Tower…"

"But that's ages away from here!" she gasped, but Myrtle merely shrugged. "That's what _I_ heard."

Hermione glanced at her watch and started; she had already lost ten precious minutes. "I knew I should've brought some more along," she muttered to herself.

Hitching up Malfoy's robes, she made a dash to the Tower, cursing when she met Peeves who started throwing stink pellets at her head.

"_Aha_!" he laughed, swooping down at her, Hermione drew out her wand and shot hex after hex; unfortunately, Peeves (now in his younger days and in his prime) was much more agile than he was in her own time.

"Blast you, Peeves!" she cried, aiming a perfect Jaw Clamping Curse at him. Peeves toppled in the air and swooped off, making obscene hand gestures at her as he left.

Panicking and glancing at her watch, Hermione saw that she was nearly half-way through her one hour limit. Getting desperate, she sprinted to Professor Plight's floor and checked ever room on the level.

"Rats!" she cried, wringing her pale hands. Myrtle had sent her on a wild goose chase for nothing. "Moaning Myrtle—I am going to _kill _you…" Looking back at her watch, she found that she had ten minutes left.

"May as well go back and get some more potion," she thought dryly and walked back downstairs.

On the Fifth landing, Hermione heard a voice call out to her.  
"Malfoy! There you are, I've been looking all over for you."

She spun around found herself face to face with one of Riddle's pimply friends.

She hastily took a step back.

"Mulciber," she nodded coldly, trying to imitate Malfoy.

Mulciber ran his hand through his straggly brown hair impatiently. "Listen, it's going to start in a few minutes and if you don't hurry, we'll both miss out!"

She stared. "What do you mean 'going to start in a few minutes' I thought the meeting was at—"

"Shh!" he hissed, putting a finger to his pale lips, full of whiteheads. "Didn't you hear? Riddle changed the time and place—he said he needed more time to sneak off from that nosy Mudblood girl Granger."

"He called me—her— that?" she said, outraged.

Mulciber shrugged. "Well, not his exact words, but that's what she is—wait a minute," he looked suspicious, 'I'm not about find out that you've harnessed some feelings towards Mudblood Jane Granger, am I?"

Hermione seriously considered agreeing in the affirmative, then declaring Malfoy's hidden homosexuality as well, but thought better of it—_for now_…

"That filthy little Mudblood?" she scoffed, using Draco's words. "She's better off as a rodent, than a human being," she repressed a shudder at her own words.

But the Death Eater looked satisfied. "Better get there before we're late," he said and motioned to a painting of three wizards playing chess by the wall.

"_Hard Cheese,_" he said to it and the painting swung forwards to reveal a passageway.

"Well, get in," he said looking at Hermione.

"Actually, I think I need to use the bathroom," she stammered, fully aware that she had less than seven minutes.

"Don't be wimpy," he sneered. "Come on, the others are waiting for us." He took her by the upper arms and steered her through.

The next moment, they were in the dungeons which was dimly lit with a few blazing torches.

Mulciber led Hermione into a spare classroom—_the same one she had hidden the real Malfoy in! _

"Hey, there, Abraxas!" said Nott, giving her a wicked look. "How about that last adventure me and Lestrange had together?"

Hermione found that she was in front of about fifteen boys, not including herself. Wondering what the rest of their names were apart from Riddle's close friends, she shrugged Malfoy's shoulders and put on a Draco-worthy sneer,  
"You mean the annual Death Eater orgy or something?" she joked.

Lestrange's eyes glittered. "Yeah, with tha' Ravenclaw oo was s'pposed to be Head Girl this year…"

Hermione gasped. "You—we…raped her?" she croaked.

"Course not!" said Lestrange indignantly. "But we was found out, remember? Good thing Riddle erased tha witness, tha' Seventh year's memory before 'e blabbed."

Hermione felt sick; she had a feeling that Laura Bettington hadn't fully consented to the—event.

"And the girl ended up leaving this year, so we all got away, remember?"

She started to look around for an escape route. She felt inside her pockets in desperation.

"Wos the matter with oo, Malfoy, you're awfully quiet, today…"

Bingo. Hermione felt the Flash Powder in Malfoy's pocket. Now to think of a Death Eater intelligent-worthy diversion…

"Our, Lord arrives!" she cried vehemently, pointing wildly at the doorway. Fifteen heads swiveled around. Side-stepping them, Hermione threw the packet on the ground with all her might and felt a whoosh of air before everything plunged into whiteness. She then whipped out her wand and muttered a Flea-biting Curse.

"Gaaah! " she heard Nott yell. "That was my face!"

"Wos goin' on 'ere?" cried Lestrange. "Me daks are feelin' the itchies!"

"Ah, my bad," said Hermione blithely. "I'm going to find Our Lord. I'll be back in a jiffy!"

She felt her way to the door and escaped; thank goodness those idiots didn't try to follow her. Hermione ran flat out and felt that bushy, brown hair was growing on her head and her body shrinking back to her normal height. "Damn" she muttered, hitching up Malfoy's robes to her knees as she ran along the dungeons.

There was a loud yelp coming back from Snape's old office and the sound of footsteps. Hermione gasped and ducked into the nearest unlocked room, hoping that no one saw her transform.

Looking around, Hermione found that the small chamber was in semi-darkness; the only light provided was from a few hovering candles floating above her, giving the room a soft golden-amber glow. There were a few chairs here and there leaning against empty bookshelves along the stone walls. Hermione rather thought that this chamber resembled someone's neglected study, with a large, solid dark pine desk sitting five paces in front of the window with a few more flickering candles hovering against the glass. Hermione walked slowly over to it and ran a hand over the green velvet lining of the desk and her eyes fell on the candles lighting the windows, showing her scared and flushed face in its reflection.

"You idiot, Hermione!" she gasped suddenly, looking at the flames. "If the room's lit, _then it's about to be used!_"

.

The sound of footsteps approached the other side of the door. Looking around wildly, Hermione ran to the desk and dove beneath it, holding her breath as she heard the door bang open and the unmistakable sound of many voices speaking.

"—found him in that broom closet with nothing but his underwear—"

"—'e said he couldn't remember a thing, thinks someone put a Memory Charm on 'im"

"But that was after we got rid of all them horrible fleas—"

Then came a voice that Hermione expected to hear…

"Alright, take him up to the Hospital Wing, and for Slytherin's sake, put a cloak or something over him," snapped Riddle. "His skid marks are starting to make people sick."

A set of footsteps followed by a painful moan—obviously Malfoy being helped out of the room by someone—and the sound of the door snapping closed.

The room was left in a ringing silence, broken by a scared voice.

"My Lord," stammered Mulciber. "Will there still be a meeting, even if there are so few of us?"

Hermione who was still hiding behind the desk could almost _feel_ Riddle turn his icy stare at the poor idiot.

"I would hardly consider this a meeting when we have barely a dozen Death Eaters in my wake, Adrias," he said coldly.

"Oh, apologies, My Lord," said Mulciber quickly. "But I hope we'll still find tonight useful?" he finished hopefully.

"We shall see," was Riddle's terse reply.

There was a deathly silence. Hermione gripped her knees with unnecessary force; how on earth was she going to get out of this?

"My Lord," said a voice quickly. "Lestrange and I just want to share our gratitude again for saving us from that incident with the Ravenclaw girl—"

"Saving your necks," said Riddle icily, "was not an act of generosity on my behalf; it was preventing what would happen if Marvin Prewett told the staff—"

There were some uncomfortable shuffling noises made from feet. Hermione clamped her hands to her crouching ankles to stop them from shaking.

She thought at that moment that she would give up all that she owned for another pack of Alphard Black's Flash Powder.

"—he would've enabled Dumbledore to expose you lot, and a fat lot of good that would do for my future career once he'd realized that I was your leader…"

There was the sound of feet pacing—it had to be Riddle's steps.

"My Lord…" said a timid voice. "Even if you hadn't meant to modify Prewett's memory, we offer you our gratitude—"

"You needn't offer me anything" said Riddle in a hard voice. "But never ravish somebody and expect to get away with it again."

There was a deathly silence broken by a nervous voice.

"My Lord, what was supposed to be on tonight's agenda?"

There was another cold pause. Hermione expected that Riddle was staring down whoever asked, she started to wonder if he actually _liked _any of his friends.

But when he spoke, his voice was so coldly soft that she had to crane he ears to listen.

"The Chamber of Secrets," Riddle said softly. There was another tense silence.

"You will have all known that ever since I pinned the blame on that oaf, it would be unwise to open the Chamber again while we are at Hogwarts…" he continued in a low voice.

There was a groan from everyone and Hermione imagined a cold, frown on Riddle's face because the noise quelled at the same time. He held such cold, threatening charisma that he scared every one within the vicinity.

"You should all realize that even though everyone—including the Ministry of Magic has bought my tale of Hagrid being the culprit, one remains skeptical—_Dumbledore._"

There was a general hiss coming from the Death Eaters as though it was a sacrilegious epithet.  
Riddle ignored them and continued as though there had not been any interruption.  
"He alone, suspects that I have had something to do with opening it and all of you are linked as a result…"

He stopped pacing and Hermione stopped breathing.

"…This is why we, as the Death Eaters, must continue in school without regular assemblies as such, for the time being." There were many protests following after Riddles proclamation but he silenced them.

"It is for our benefit, seeing as though Dumbledore's opinion matter greatly to even his authorities, I do not wish to impel our société to exposure."

Despite, hiding under a pine desk and quaking in fright, Hermione couldn't quite suppress a derisive snort. '_What a kind, thoughtful Dark Lord.'_

"My Lord," asked an excited voice. "You never spoke of the last Chamber attack to us before. Did you really set that Basilisk on the Mudblood in the bathroom as a sacrificial statement to the world that all blood filths should be thrown out of this school?" Whoever spoke said this very quickly.

Riddle didn't reply, instead, he quietly walked towards the window, looking at the flames of the flickering candles. He stood there for a long time, staring at a particular candle.

"No," he said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Hermione felt the blood leave her face. As noble as she would have liked to feel at being surprised at Riddle's words, it wasn't because of the shock of his unintentional murder…  
…It was because the window was facing _directly at her!  
_

What if Riddle turned before he walked back? Hermione begged the stars that Riddle would make a clockwise arc and head back to his Death Eaters without turning…

...

* * *

...

"…This is why we, as the Death Eaters, must continue in school without regular assemblies as such, for the time being," said Tom calmly, and his Death Eaters protested all at once.

_Good Merlin, this is getting boring_, he thought crossly. Thank goodness he was blessed with patience, otherwise he thought he would've blasted them all through the door already. Tom Riddle was having one of the most annoyingly tedious days in his life.

The classes he had to endure were excruciatingly boring as were the people who taught them. Did the professors not realize that he was already well ahead of the classes, already? Why must they impale stupid first-year revision on him—the great Tom Riddle. And who would dare make him embarrass himself by being forced to charm a toothpick into a needle? Professor Dumbledore, that's who. He even awarded Tom ten points to Slytherin. _The nerve of that old geezer_.

It was bad enough that all of his stupid Death Eaters forgot where to meet him in the first place. Tom had to actually go off to _hunt_ for them for at least half an hour before giving up and returning to the dungeons, only to find that they were all assembled together in a different chamber with Malfoy who was found stripped of his clothing and hidden in a broom closet, unconscious.

'_Serves him right,'_ he thought maliciously. _'Probably tried to seduce some poor girl and got what was coming to him.'_ He seriously considered thanking whoever cursed that idiot. But all this was nothing.

For he could simply not stop thinking about Jane Granger.

Sure, she was the Head Girl and it would've been perfectly reasonable to spare a moment of thought about a colleague, but…

He sighed inwardly out of irritation. He had been impeding his thoughts since yesterday morning. And that wasn't only because of her proclamation that she knew about The Chamber of Secrets and how Moaning Myrtle died. He shuddered.

He had felt an odd sort of connection towards her ever since their very first encounter, but couldn't quite put his finger on why…

But what he did know was that she was a formidable opponent. Yes, he knew very well that he sounded hackneyed, but for someone who didn't like him—_loathed him_, were her actual words, to be exact…it rather impressive that Granger could be so persistent in pursuing his friendship.

When she wasn't arguing or ill-wishing him, Jane Granger could be a fine ally. Even though she wasn't a startling beauty, she was attractive in her own way. _Regally lovely_. Tom's stomach churned as he remembered _that dream_ he had about her last night. He couldn't quite remember it was well as one tended to, but all he did remember was that she was wearing her white dress, the silken material clinging decadently to her lush waist and gently curved hips, with her hair falling down in soft strands from her loose knot in clouds and the beguiling scent of roses and honeysuckle smell wafting around him…

'_Well, it could've been much worse,_' he thought decidedly, thinking about the time when Malfoy had woken up in the middle of the night in their dormitory, with his sheets all spattered and smelling strongly of sprouts. Malfoy apparently panicked and began to hop around frantically, trying to clear up the sheets before anyone could see.

Unfortunately, since he was a light sleeper and Malfoy refused to don bed clothing, Tom's first view when he'd rolled over and woken was Malfoy's four-inch fully aroused, barely three feet from his face. Tom still winced at the memory, so he did what any sane person would do in his current obligation.  
He repressed that memory.

In fact, that's what he should be doing with the memory of his dream. So he shoved Jane Granger from his mind…

Voices snapped him out of his reverie. Bloody Baron, were they _still_ pretending to act sorry? Tom put up a hand for silence and the noise ceased at once.

"It's for our benefit, seeing as though Dumbledore's opinion matters greatly to even his authorities, I do not wish to impel our société to exposure," he said coldly, fully aware that his temples were starting to throb. He looked frostily at the Death Eaters, daring them to argue.

"My Lord," asked Nott in a pathetically eager voice. "You never spoke of the last Chamber attack to us before. Did you really set that Basilisk on the Mudblood in the bathroom as a sacrificial statement to the world that all blood filths should be thrown out of this school?" He said all this very quickly.

Tom felt his face shut down and his insides turning into ice. Avoiding the watchful eyes upon him, he glided slowly toward the single window over the wall, ignoring the elegant solid pine desk and stared into the flickering flames of a singular candle floating on the window sill.

He knew he must tell them, although the thought did not settle well with him. He focused his vision onto the solitary candle, slightly entranced by its dying light.

"No," he said in a low voice empty of emotion. "It was unintentional. Had I realized that she was present…" He stopped, moving his hand over the flickering flames, trying to find the right words.

"I commanded the Basilisk to paralyze any muggleborn it saw and the nearest one was her." He paused before continuing. "Of course, the beast was not to face me, as I would be killed instantly were we to have eye contact."

"The Basilisk was looking in the direction of the lavatory where there were no reflective surfaces, when Myrtle emerged from one of them, clearly intending to ward me off, and then…" He stopped, placing both his hands on either side of the window frame.

Tom felt dense; it had been a bluff—the whole thing. Salazar Slytherin's aim was to be rid of any students without magical parenting and Tom found that it was his own destiny as The Heir of Slytherin to continue in his noble ancestor's work. He was only supposed to scare them— the Muggleborns, but never to _kill_.

The threat from the school governors to close the school had opened his eyes to the conclusion that it wasn't worth it. Leading in Salazar's footsteps was not worth losing his home. So he decided to abandon the Chamber and forget Slytherin's monster. But the thing about a chosen destiny was that they always came around to meet you, whether you liked it or not. There was no way of escaping it.

He would have to purge the school of these muggleborns, whether it was in five or fifty years' time. Tom's insides went rigid as he recalled that Jane Granger was one. He wondered vaguely if she would be subject to the Basilisk's predatory.

He took in a deep breath, trying to ready himself. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Tom thought he could smell that odd combination of roses and honeysuckle.

Shaking his head, he cursed inwardly. It was bad enough that she was cropping up in his dreams, but now he could _smell_ her too?

"My Lord," said Rosier fearfully. "Are you alright?"

Tom nodded; his back was still to them. He started to move from the window, but stopped in his tracks. That smell again! That same beguiling scent of roses with the hint of honeysuckle. So powerful was the aroma, it overwhelmed him. For a wild moment Tom thought he was growing insane. But his rational senses finally coincided.

This couldn't be a hallucination. The scent was all too real.

His eyes moved around, trying to find the source of the fragrance, around the room, past the chairs, past the faces of his loyal followers, to the pine desk, beneath the pine…

Tom gaped when he saw who was crouched like a frog beneath the table.

Jane Granger, the pesky, dignified, scathing Gryffindor Head Girl was squatting underneath the desk with her hands around her ankles, paled and terrified as she gaped back at him!

For a few moments, they just stared at each other in shock and utter disbelief.

Surely this was some sort of a sick hallucination—she would disappear the moment he closed his eyes and opened them again. He blinked.

Damn, she was still there.

"My Lord?" said Mulciber in a strangled sort of voice.

Tom's attention snapped back to his Death Eater, he successfully rearranged his face to make it look cold and condescending.

"Tonight's meeting is adjourned," he said silkily, calmly walking forward and deliberately treading on Jane's fingers which she had just placed unwittingly on the ground. He heard a small squeak and felt coolly satisfied. He looked coolly at his subjects.

"You may all—oof."

He felt an excruciating pain on his left shin and looked down. To his horror, she was biting his leg in retaliation.

"My Lord, did you just grunt?" asked Mulciber, alarmed. The Death Eaters made a concerned movement towards him.

"I'm not!" gritted Tom, trying to shake off his leg.

"Is there an animal under that desk?" asked Nott curiously, putting his hands on his knees and peering at the desk.

Tom let out a bark of laughter which then turned quickly to a choked sound of pain.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he growled wickedly, eyes beginning to water. He felt her fingernails ebbing into his leg.

"Is it a dog?"

Tom seriously considered agreeing in the affirmative but refrained from doing so; even he wasn't _that_ evil. Fortunately, Jane noticed his abstinence and let go of his leg.

Tom quickly took the advantage of her release and hastily side-stepped from the table.

"I believe I have told you that this meeting is over?" he said coldly, staring down at the terrified Slytherins. They quickly shuffled to the door, scrambling over one another to reach it first, mumbling hasty farewells.

"Goodnight My Lord."

"Excellent meeting!"

Tom thought he heard someone say 'Sweet dreams, My Lord", but ignored it.

In three long strides, he snapped the door close after them and magically locked it. Turning his head around furiously, Tom Riddle marched back over to the desk and popped his head over it to look at Hermione upside-down.

"_So,_" he said, trying to contain his cold fury.

Hermione instinctively jabbed her wand in his eye and ran for the door.

Grunting and holding his right hand over his eye, Tom flicked his wand casually, so the desk lifted itself up and slammed against the door, blocking her escape.

"Oh!" she cried, putting her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

With grim satisfaction, Tom slowly prowled towards her, keeping his steps even and menacing, like a predator. He stopped when they were a mere feet from her, pleased that he was able to tower over the small, obstinate Gryffindor very easily.

"What were you doing in here?" he hissed icily, his eyes boring into her wide brown ones. Jane glared back defiantly, unfazed at his size.

"Well," she said at last, using her hands to assist explanation. "I was patrolling tonight since it's the Head Girl's duty to do so—"

"It's the Ravenclaws turn tonight," he reminded her coldly, looming over her.

Tom smirked when she took an involuntary half-step back.

Jane didn't say anything and he took the advantage of her silence. "You were following us were you not?" he said swiftly.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't give yourself such airs," she snorted. "If you _must _know—"

She paused, looking hopefully at the window behind her.

"Don't even think about it," Tom warned her, waving his wand threateningly. She breathed heavily through her nose in frustration.

"Fine!" she snapped. "I was on my way to see Barry and Sev, when I had my courses, alright?! Then I had to use this place as an emergency when you lot burst in…"

"I beg your pardon?" he interrupted coldly. "What on earth are courses?"

"What are—"She repeated and paused, Tom saw her eyes widen as she blushed furiously. "Um…hmm hmms?" she said, her voice cracking with effort.  
"Er, moon cycles?"

"For what? Werewolves…?" he asked impatiently, annoyed that she knew something he didn't.

"Noo…" hedged Hermione empathically, waving her hands and blushing a beet red. "For _ladies_, women in general…"  
Oh, Lord, she had to explain menstruation cycles to Lord Voldemort.

Riddle's face flickered as understanding began to dawn.

"For ladies…ah." He finally understood.

Tom took an involuntary full step back from her.

Apparently, this offended her.

"It's not _contagious_, you know," she snapped. He glanced uncomfortably away and then back at her. Wait a minute—was that a _smirk_ on her face?

"You're lying," he said bluntly. Jane tried and failed miserably to hide her guilty expression.

Tom took two steps towards her, making her edge back into the desk and glowered at her. "Do you realize what my friends would have done to you if they found that you were in this room?" he hissed.

"I suppose they would've ravished me?" she demanded, standing her ground.

"Exactly," he snapped back, narrowing his dark eyes. "What's more they would've attempted to erase your memory, which would've probably been poorly done so you'll wind up losing your mind in the end."

She blinked hard.

"So what are you going to do to _me_?" Jane whispered, looking at him with her bright brown eyes.

"I'm—"  
He was about to say that he was going to erase her memory of tonight but stopped.

"Er, I didn't quite catch that," she said with a frown. Tom glared at her, frustrated that he found himself thinking that she looked very lovely in the dim candlelight. But he managed to pull himself together.

"I'm going to erase your memory so you don't remember what was said in tonight's meeting," he said evenly.

To his surprise, Jane gave a small laugh.

"_What,_" he said, moving close to her in an intimidating manner. "Is so funny?"

To his annoyance, she just shrugged. "I knew you opened the Chamber of Secrets, killed Myrtle and framed Hagrid _ages_ ago," she said airily. "I didn't hear anything that surprised me—except that you didn't kill Myrtle on purpose."

Tom was kicked in the teeth.  
"How?" he demanded, unable to breathe.

She smiled wickedly. "Magic," she replied

"I know more about you than you know yourself," she added in a mystical sort of voice.

He stood motionless for a very long time, gazing at her until her smile was wiped off from her face and she showed signs of discomfort beneath his close scrutiny.

"You know," he said quietly. "I have half a mind now to remove your memory. What you could tell people may result to my friends' disclosure—not to mention my own. And we couldn't have that now, could we?"

Jane's eyes went wide then narrowed but didn't say anything.

"However," he continued, looking down at her through his thick dark lashes. "I'm going to let you go, given that you won't tell anyone, understand?"

She nodded her little bushy brown head. "But why are you…?" she trailed off.

Tom considered this for a moment himself before replying. "Because I respect the courage you've shown tonight," he said shortly. "Also because I don't quite think you're worth murdering…" he added as an afterthought.

Hermione ignored his last comment.

"And you're not going to blast me into smithereens because of that," she said dubiously. "Even when I've told you that I know your secrets?" This was strange, she thought, furrowing her brow. Hadn't he murdered people for less?

"I'm not even going to ask you how you know so much about me," Riddle said evenly

"Good, because I'm not going to satisfy you by answering," she fired at once. "But don't worry" she added quickly. "I promise I won't tell anyone what you did."

"Well I certainly trust that you won't," he bit off, his cold gaze unwavering.

Hermione looked pensive. "Well, I don't really think anyone would believe me for starters," she said slowly. "But, I think it's all for the best, so we'll just leave this conversation as it is then, won't we?"

Voldemort gave an unconvinced look and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You do realize that I could murder you, right now, don't you?" he said pleasantly.

"I'm sure you feel like it at the moment," she said in disdain. "But trust me when I say that it's for the best that people don't know—the shock would ruin Hogwarts!" she patted him kindly on the arm.

He glared at her and Hermione desisted with a bit of a grin.

"Very well," he ground out. "I'll let you go for tonight, but if a single word gets out, then I'm going to have to murder you in your bed."

Hermione gasped. "Are you _seducing me?_" she asked incredulously

Riddle gave her a look that could freeze a salamander.

He flicked his wand and the desk; it flew over their head and banged on the opposite side of the room whence it came from.

"Let's go before Pringle threatens to skin us alive," he said curtly, reaching over and opening the door for her to leave first.

"How _genteel_ of you," she drawled sarcastically, not moving. "But how do I know that you'll turn your wand on me the moment my back is turned?"

She saw his face go rigid.  
"I gave you my word" he said through gritted teeth. "But if you insist on me _taking it back_—"

"No, no," she said quickly, walking through the door. "I wouldn't want you to break the gentleman's conduct now…"

Hermione didn't hear Riddle's muttered reply but smirked.

.

* * *

.

"Warm night, isn't it?" asked Hermione as she stopped to wait for Riddle to catch up. He ignored her in disdain and sauntered past her haughtily.

"Yes, Miss Jane, it's a _wonderful_ night," she continued under her breath. "My night would have been _dreadfully_ dreary without your splendid presence!"

He spun around. "Who on earth are you talking to?" he demanded, looking at her as though she'd lost her mind. Truly, she felt that she had since coming to this school.

She shrugged. "I was pretending to answer for you." He rolled his eyes and continued to climb up the stairs in silence.

"Grouchy git," she muttered and followed him to a shortcut on the second floor corridor.

He was at least six paces in front of her and when they rounded a corner.

Hermione heard a sickening smack and the next thing she saw was Riddle on the ground in front of a small house-elf, blinking hard.

"What the-?" she heard him grunt lifting himself into a sitting position and staring into the house elf's pair of huge blinking eyes.

"Oh, sir, so sorry sir!" squeaked a house-elf. "I is only running to the kitchens and didn't see—"

"That's alright, Tappy," he muttered, running a hand through his thick dark hair. "Here, stand up…"

Hermione gaped in shock. _Tom Riddle was kind to house-elves!_ He wasn't even nice to _her_…

"So sorry, sir," chirped Tappy, waggling his bat-like ears. "Twinkie is always telling me's sir—"

"Tappy!" squeaked a horrified voice, there was another house-elf hurrying towards them. "How many times do I have to tell you's that you should not run off like that!"

"Sorry, Twinkie," mumbled Tappy, his ears drooping.

"And running into a sir, no less," she scolded then curtseyed at Tom and Hermione.

"There's no need for that," said Riddle quickly at the gesture. Hermione stared at him, speechless.

"You look a little banged up," he said, surveying Tappy's arm. "Why don't you allow me…"  
But the elf shook his head. "I is fine, good sir," he squeaked. "Must be getting to the kitchens with Twinky, now!"

"Where were you before now?" asked Hermione kindly. Twinkie cast a disapproving look at a guilty-faced Tappy. "We was up in the Head Dormitories for cleaning," she replied politely to Hermione. "But then Tappy accidentally set fire to the curtains."

"Oh dear," said Hermione with a smile.

"But it's just a small fire!" protested Tappy indignantly. "Not big enough to ruin anything."

Hermione nodded. "I'm sure none of our possessions are irreplaceable so no harm done." Tappy and Twinkie looked at her in shock and she suddenly got the feeling that she had said something wrong.

"You and sir are the Heads?" said Twinkie timidly. Hermione nodded deftly and was horrified when the house-elves began to bow and curtsey fervently.

Before she could say a word, Twinkie grabbed Tappy by his tea towel and marched off. "We must get going to cook breakfast!" she squeaked and together, the elves Disapparated with a crack.

"That was interesting," said Hermione confusedly, looking up at Riddle. "You'd think that being Head Girl and Boy would _terrify_ them…"she added sarcastically.

"Don't think you should've mentioned that to them," he said with a small grimace. "Never could stand it when they start to curtsey like that."

"Oh," she said vaguely frowning; from what she'd heard from Harry, Lord Voldemort hadn't a problem with his servants kneeling on floors and kissing his robes.

She wondered what made him change his stand of elf rights. But a thought suddenly occurred to her.

"Say Riddle…" she said slowly, looking at the spot where the elves had been standing. "How is it that no-one can Apparate or Disapparate within the school grounds, but house-elves can?"

Riddle eyes her appraisingly for a moment.

"The school's security system is magically lowered especially for the house-elves currently employed at the school" he finally murmured in a low voice.

"And it's never been tampered with or anything?" she said incredulously. If Fred and George had known this then they'd be Apparating all over the place!

"None but a staff member would know how to," he said grimly, turning away and began walking.

When they reached their dormitory, Hermione paused and looked at him

"Erm," she said, unable to vocalize anything articulate. "Well, thanks for not Obliviating me…"

Riddle didn't say anything; he merely nodded and gazed at her in a scrutinizing manner for perhaps a second longer than he should have.

She stared unblinkingly at him, waiting…

"Goodnight, Miss Granger," he replied in his cool velvet voice and left for his dorm.

"Sweet dreams, My Lord," she said jokingly, before she could stop herself.

.

* * *

...

I hoped you liked this chappie. The next one's a bit of a shout, where we get to see a lot broken bones.

I'd love to hear your comments, please leave one at the end!

W.R


	15. Misdeeds for Magical Merit

_**A/N:**_

_Hello! Thank you so very, very much for your wonderful reveiws! I absolutely loved each of them. I'm trying my very best to update The Chalice of Ruine Roown on a weekly basis, so I don't keep you guys on tenterhooks! I hope you'll like this chapter._

_Read and review! _

* * *

.

* * *

.

**Chapter 15**

**Misdeeds for Magical Merit**

.

* * *

...

"Hermione, I just don't see why you bother reading the paper," said Harry, craning over her shoulder one morning. "It's pointless as we're in the _forties!"_

They were taking advantage of a seventh year free period outside under a beech tree looking over the shimmering lake. Hermione had hastened to tell Harry and Ron what happened on Friday night on Saturday morning and they spent most of their weekend deliberating ideas why Riddle hadn't killed her when he caught her spying on him "Please don't do that again, Hermione" Harry had moaned, crushing her in a relieved hug when she had told him.

"It's good to know what's happening around us," said Hermione stretching out the paper. "And you can understand why, see here…" she smoothed out the Daily Prophet in front of them so they could see the front page. "It says that Arbery Grindelwald has recruited a huge mass of supporters—and a rumour has it that he threatening for kill Muggles if the Ministry doesn't meet his demands."

"Which are—?"

"Top secret," she said, disappointed. "Rumor has it that it's well hidden outside of Britain."

"Great…" said Ron vaguely. "But I still don't see your point. We all know that Dumbledore defeats him this year."

She shook her head. "It's still good to know what he's capable of—not that we're to be _involved,_" she added severely to Ron whose eyes gleamed with excitement.

"C'mon Hermione, you don't think we'd be stupid enough to take on Grindelwald?" protested Harry, looking up from their Transfiguration homework.

"I really wished I'd read up more about Grindelwald in the past," she said thoughtfully. "It'd be really interesting to know where the battle took place and all."

"Come off it, Hermione," groaned Ron. "We're pretty much on vacation from our time and you want to do _extra homework_?"

The bell rang and they all jumped up and scooped up their belongings.

"Don't want to be late for Defence against the Dark Arts," said Harry, skipping around them in annoying circles. "I'm betting that Merrythought's classes are going to be brilliant, since he'll be retiring at the end of this year—that's what I heard from the Riddle in the Pensieve."

"That reminds me," panted Hermione as she climbed up the marble steps after Ron and Harry. "What are Riddle's resources? How did he get all the inside information about the staff before anyone else knew?"

"Dunno," was Harry's reply, bending down to pick up a quill, so she accidentally walked into his bottom.  
"Hermione" he protested, moving it away. "But good question; we should delve into that, soon. But for now…" He led them to the classroom door. Oddly, it was locked and their Professor had just finished talking to the crowd of students standing outside.

.

Professor Merrythought was a very old, very little wizard with a shock of white hair that grew in different directions underneath his deep blue and gold pointed hat.

"Here are our new students!" he said it a highly excited voice as he ushered them towards him genially.

"Damn," whispered Ron. "We're with the Slytherins!"

Hermione quickly looked around; sure enough, there were eleven Slytherins gazing coolly back at the newcomers. Tom Riddle was in the midst of them, looking haughty and indifferent. His eyes moved over to hers for a fraction of a second before looking away. She ignored him.

"Remember," whispered Hermione to her friends. "You _are _a Slytherin, now." Ron and Harry gave her a scowl and she grinned. How she loved being a know-it-all.

"Right, even though you three have arrived late into term," said Merrythought lightly. "I'll let you in on today's lesson:

"The examiners have informed me that this year will concern a very tough practical examination requiring all of your knowledge of spells, jinxes, and defensive magic.

Furthermore, I was asked to properly train you for the real world when you graduate. As you all know, Grindelwald and his followers are at large and are more than happy to attack young adults such as yourselves. And what better way to revise and train you at the same time by holding this century's Hogwarts' Magical Merit Tournament_ today!"_

Hermione, Ron and Harry gaped at the little wizened wizard. They were holding a duelling tournament _right now?_ Merlin's hat, he must be growing senile with age!

She just stared at him, utterly flabbergasted.

"Nothing too dangerous, rest assured," he added quickly. "Professor Dumbledore has informed me that you three are up to scratch with all the Defensive magic from your last school, so I doubt that you will perform poorly."

"Sir," squeaked Hermione in a raspy voice, she felt all twenty eyes on her. "We haven't practiced nor revised!"  
How on earth was she going to cope with these seventh years when they had almost a month's knowledge about this than she did? Not to mention all the preparation they had on her…

Merrythought smiled reasurringly at her worried expression. "The Magical Merit was a surprise, my dear!" he looked around briefly. "Ministry approved, that is. Just do your best and see how you go—everyone follow me, please…"

He took out his wand and pointed at the door, it immediately burst open, and everyone gasped in unison.

The room looked quite spectacular without the usual desks; the shutters were closed on the windows bathing them in darkness except for the bright flame torches lining on the walls. Ahead of them hung the usual skeletons of magical creatures, including a Hungarian Horntail.

Merrythought clapped his hands together "Now, to make this interesting, I'm going to ask you to divide into your Houses."  
The Gryffindors and Slytherins scattered into two distinctive groups.

Hermione walked over to the smiling faces of Phyllis Pemberly, Jacob Casby, Jack Shacklebolt, Dean and Percivas while Harry and Ron moved over to the Slytherins, whom all greeted the pair enthusiastically with the exception of the Death Eaters. Hermione saw Alphard Black give Ron a high five and wink at her. She grinned back, unaware that Riddle had been watching.

Merrythought tutted

"No, no, there are far too many Slytherins, Trotter and Snape, Black over to the Gryffindors, if you please." They bounded over, grinning broadly.

"It's a no brainer what I'm about to ask you to do," smiled the professor. "You will compete against each other as a team until we come down to just _two finalists_, and the winner takes all!"

"And what exactly do we win?" drawled Abraxas Malfoy from the Slytherins.

"Fifty Galleons and the prestigious Medal for Magical Merit—a real honour!" boomed Merrythought, patting his pocket. The enthusiasm from everyone seemed to double.

Merrythought paced back and forwards in front of them. "To make this a _little_ easier for you, you will duel with your opponent as a classmate rather a Dark Wizard—"

"Easy for you to say," muttered Hermione eyeing Lord Voldemort across the room.

"However, I want you all to be fully aware that when a real Dark wizard attacks, he is not going to tell you which spells he will be using against you; he is not going to do it nice and polite in front of your face. This means that you must always have your wands and wits at the ready, you must always have—"

"—CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" yelled Harry and Ron at the same time and Hermione buried her face into her hands in embarrassment. The class tittered at them.

Merrythought nodded approvingly. "Precisely" he said. "I want you all to start with the basics—I will give the two finalists the privilege of battling one another using complex magic, not just defence…"

"Alright!" shouted Merrythought, startling the class. "Black and Mulciber, bow."

Hermione thought Alphard dueled quite well; his spell work was remarkably quick; in thirty seconds Mulciber had been successfully disarmed and stunned in the bottom as he made grab for his wand on the ground.

"Mulciber, out of the running!" barked the professor and Mulciber slouched off looking rather put out.

...

For the next half hour, everyone was battling with very entertaining results; Ron had successfully sent a Stinging Hex at Nott and gave Martin Reigus leeks coming out his ears, unfortunately, Rolland Flint aimed a well-timed Jelly-legs jinx that Ron couldn't block and was out of the tournament. Ron wobbled over to the side with such extreme difficulty amidst laughter. It also didn't help when his trousers fell down…

Phyllis and Persia Parkinson had been battling ferociously in the tournament; sending a wide range of spells, including hair-thickening hexes to making Bubotuber pus come out of Persia's nose. The girls ended up discarding their wands and pulling each other's hair and screaming insults which earned loud tumultuous applause from everyone until Merrythought broke the fight and disqualified them both.

Alphard Black had successfully creamed Philip Pince with an Impediment Jinx but Malfoy got him back with a Stunning spell.

Abulla Bloom blasted Percivas and Dean with the same Conjunctivitis Curse but was beaten by Jack Shacklebolt.

Jacob sprained his ankle when Malfoy used a trip Jinx on him while he was still standing and the poor Gryffindor was forced out of the contest.

In the end, all was left were Harry and Hermione against Malfoy, Reigus, Pince and Tom Riddle.

"We're a little outnumbered," muttered Harry grinning. Hermione made a tutting noise and pushed him forward to Pince.

"This should be good," grinned Ron from the end of the classroom.

"Bow, please," said Merrythought from the side of the room. Harry and Pince walked over to the centre of the room and bowed.

"Tarantellegra!" bellowed Pince while Harry yelled, "Protegro!"

The Quickstep Curse was blocked and Harry quickly used the Prince's toenail jinx on Pince who stumbled and tripped.

"Expelliarmus!" shouted Pince from the ground and Harry felt his wand shoot out of his hand. But with a well-timed Shield Charm he managed to hang on to it with the tips of his fingers.

"Impedimenta!" yelled Harry and Pince shot ten feet backwards, paralyzed.

"Good job, Trotter" said Merrythought peering astutely at him above his silver spectacles "but what this class is failing to do is to use _all _of their knowledge of Curses and Jinxes to their advantage—in the next duel, I want to see you do just that…"

"Good job, Barry!" trilled Ron Hermione, rushing up to him. Harry grinned as they ruffled his hair and slapped him on the back.

"What are you doing still standing there, Trotter?" called professor Merrythought from the front. "It's not over yet!"

Harry looked rather confused as he stared at the stunned Slytherin lying in the corner. Surely they didn't expect him to duel with a vegetable?

"Riddle, Trotter, prepare your wands."

Ron gasped and Harry's face went white, then blue, then angry as he turned slowly to look at The Boy Who Would Grow Up To Kill His Mum and Dad…

Harry made a growling sound.

Hermione watched apprehensively as Harry glared at Riddle who looked coolly unconcerned. She could almost feel the rage and boiling anger emitting from Harry as he stared him down; to this point Riddle was starting to eye him with some curiosity.

"Three…two…one…"

"Expelliarmus!" bellowed Harry and Riddle flicked his wand in a cavalier fashion to block the spell. His reflexes were stunningly excellent.

"Petrificus Totalus," said Riddle, almost casually; Harry ducked out of the way and summoned a table in front of him when another curse came his way.

"Now _that's_ more like it!" cried Merrythought.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The table rose and Harry Banished it towards Riddle who ducked neatly out of the way

"Incarcerous!" he muttered and ropes flew out from his wand and bound Harry who got rid of them with a Severing Charm.

"Stupefy!" roared Harry aiming his wand at Riddle, his expression quite alarming.

Deflecting it neatly, Riddle sent a Winding Hex which got Harry full in the chest and threw him back into the wall. Hermione and Ron watched in astonishment as Harry stood up, coughing looking beside himself.

Breathing heavily, he raised his wand and shouted, "SECTUMSEMP—!"

"Harry, no!" shrieked Hermione in horror, forgetting that her friend used a different name. Harry stopped himself short and shook his head in disbelief. Riddle waited for him to pick himself up before using the Disarming spell which Harry couldn't block.

"Trotter, out of the running!" called Merrythought, oblivious to the fact that Harry still stood there breathing heavily, staring daggers at Riddle with hands clenched into shaking white fists.

"Barry, mate," said Ron uncertainly, looking slightly scared. Harry threw Riddle a look of deepest loathing as both of them walked past each other back in to their teams.

"This isn't over, Riddle," Hermione heard Harry hiss. She quickly went to his side

"What the _devil_ did you do that for!" she whispered angrily. "You could've _killed_ him!"

"Exactly," he muttered, his emerald eyes glittering with cold fury.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but Merrythought called, "Miss Granger, Mr Reigus!"

Hermione, too full of worry about Harry, barely bowed and shot a Disarming spell without even realizing it. Reigus, however, blocked the spell easily and aimed a Slapping Jinx at her head, Hermione felt something hot graze the side of her head. Getting up angrily from the ground, she jabbed her wand and angrily yelled, "Silencio!"

Reigus opened his mouth but couldn't speak which gave her time to pull herself together and shout, "Locomotor Mortis!" instantly, his legs snapped together and toppled over, face-first onto the table and smashing his nose where it began to bleed profusely.

"This Duel goes to Miss Granger!" said Merrythought, the Gryffindors, Harry, Ron and Black cheered.

Hermione wiped sweat from her brow with her sleeves as Abraxas Malfoy swaggered over to meet her in the centre of the classroom.

"Bow," commanded Merrythought.

Malfoy snorted. "Think you're so good, don't you Mudblood?" he sneered as they bowed.

"Mind your language or I'll glue your lips together." hissed Hermione.

"Three…two…"

The next thing she knew Hermione was hurled back into the wall; Malfoy used a Knockback Jinx on her before Merrythought had finished counting.

Whipping her wand in the air, Hermione bellowed, "AUGUMENTI!"

A powerful jet of water shot from her wand and hit Malfoy with full force in the face, sending him back into the wall with an almighty crash.

Malfoy recovered quickly and sent out a flurry of random curses, in which Hermione had to leap over a table and around a couple of chairs, before diving into a neat forward roll and shouting, _"Lumos!"_

The tip of her wand shone a bright light that dazzled Malfoy in the eye, causing him to become temporarily blinded.

"Apugnis!" she yelled and Malfoy's lips glued together with a snap. Malfoy, unable to articulate a proper spell, sent random sparks at Hermione who dodged them until a particularly nasty red spark caught her in the shoulder, causing her to drop her wand in pain from the burn.

Her Lip-locker Jinx wore off on Malfoy and he walked towards her wearing an evil smirk, "Cruci—"

"DENSAUGEO!" yelled Hermione, who grabbed her wand just in time.

To the class' amusement, Malfoy's front teeth began to grow at an alarming rate so he resembled a badly Transfigured hare. Nearly everyone howled with laughter as Malfoy felt his teeth and screamed in panic. He leapt back from Hermione and bolted out of the classroom to the hospital wing, no doubt.

"I declare Miss Granger the winner of this match!" shouted the tiny professor with delight as the Gryffindor team clapped and cheered.

Hermione hurried back to Harry and Ron, holding her shoulder. "That was brilliant, Jane!" breathed Ron, wiping tears from his eyes "what a way to get a Malfoy back with the teeth hex!"

"In case if you hadn't noticed, he tried to use an Unforgivable Curse on me," she said grimly, rubbing her shoulder.

"Hermione, I don't think Malfoy could've really—" started Harry.

"Miss Granger," said Merrythought from the front. "You've now successfully won the semi-finals of the Tournament—"  
The Gryffindor team beamed at a glowing Hermione.

"But you haven't won it yet," reminded Merrythought with a small smile.

.

"Mr. Riddle, Miss Granger, prepare your wands..."

.

* * *

...

Hermione's fingers were shaking, as were her knees and every other bit of her.

"Beat him at his own game, Jane," said Harry furiously. "You can do it."

"Just make sure he doesn't use an Unforgivable Curse on you," said Ron nervously; Harry smacked him on the head. "I mean, rip out his guts," he added hastily.

"Thanks, Sev," said Hermione weakly. She took a deep breath and felt Harry nudge her forward encouragingly.

She stumbled on the hem of her robes slightly and hastily regained her composure in embarrassment.

"Like a true Gryffindor," sniggered Alphard and she ignored him.

Hermione hoped that she wasn't going to pee on the ground in fright as she walked slowly forward.

"Just one minute, Miss Granger, Mr. Riddle," called Merrythought, and they halted. He casually flicked his wands and about a dozen desks, chairs and lamps appeared in the arena at random settings. He gave another flick of his wand and the walls became mirrors which were revolving so fast that they appeared blurred.

"I _am_ giving away a sackful of Galleons and a shiny golden medal, you know," he reminded them. Hermione laughed, feeling a little better. She caught Tom's eye and quickly ceased. Around them the flames in the torches turned blue and let off sparks ominously.

They walked slowly toward each other. Hermione stared into Tom's cool dark grey eyes coldly. He noticed this and the corners of his lips curved to a mocking smile.  
"Sure you don't want to forfeit before I injure you?" he hissed.

Hermione bristled "What? And miss out on breaking your nose?" she snapped. "I don't think so."

"I believe I had that privilege over you last week, as you may recall," he smirked.

"That was an accident!" she snapped.

"Remember," called Merrythought, readjusting his hat excitedly. "Aim for complex curses and Tom—don't go easy on Miss Granger just because she is a lady—"

"Don't worry, sir," said Tom earnestly. "You see, it's rather difficult to imagine so when you can see her moustache up this close."

Hermione's eyes bulged. "Why you little skiving—"

_I do not have a moustache!_ She thought hotly. She knew Riddle was trying to get her successfully furious.

"Wands at the ready!" barked Merrythought. "_Bow_…"

Hermione bowed so ferociously that she banged her head on his. She saw with some satisfaction when she saw Riddle's jaw clenched with pain.

The class were watching on tenterhooks at the match between the Head Boy and Girl.

"Three…Two…_one_…"

"Impedimenta!" yelled Riddle, pointing his wand at the table in front of her. Hermione saw the table hurtle towards her and flung herself on the ground.

"Reducto!" she shrieked at a chair behind him, making it explode. Bits of splinted wood seared his back and neck.

Hermione rolled sideways quickly from the desk. "Stupefy—!"

"Protego!" he shouted, one hand on the back of his bleeding neck, looking livid.

"Flipendo!"

Hermione felt herself being thrown backwards into the air and hit the spinning mirrored wall so hard that it cracked. She felt shards of glass pierce her back painfully, but ignored it. Riddle was looking smugly at her.

"Diffindo!" she hissed, aiming her wand at the skeleton of a giant bat so it fell on top of him emitting a large amount of dust, obscuring his vision.

Hermione got up smiling broadly, too.

"Depulso!" she yelled and Riddle was cart wheeled in the air. "Not so smiley now, are you?" she called enthusiastically.

"Ascendio!" he barked and landed upright before his feet hit the floor. "You have no chance of beating me, Granger," he hissed coldly.

"Uh-oh," muttered Hermione and quickly looked around the room—_ah-ha_! She found a small statue behind Professor Merrythought.

"Gryfconicus!"

Immediately, the statue was transfigured into a real-life Lion!

It roared and the class gasped. It reared its hind legs and sprang at Riddle, making him topple over. The great big lion roared in his face.

"Evanesco!" bellowed Riddle and it vanished at once.

Looking furiously at Hermione who was smirking, he pointed his wand at her right wrist, "Glacius!"

An agonizingly cold sensation caught her on her wand hand and Hermione gasped; he had frozen her hand!

She took her wand on her left hand and managed to cry, "_Accio_, desk!"

Instantly, Merrythought's table zoomed in front of her as a shield. Hermione cast an Imperturbable Charm in case Riddle tried to blast it.

Hermione closed her eyes with pain. "_Finite Incantatem_," she whispered and her wand hand defrosted immediately. She looked quickly at Harry and Ron and found them grinning at her in an encouraging way. Ron was pointing at Riddle, miming a person crying and then pointing at her. She nodded in response and crouched at the table, ready for Riddle to come over…

Hearing footsteps, Hermione couldn't quite manage to suppress a grin; Tom Riddle thought she was bawling behind the desk and was coming over to gloat!

This was almost too much _fun_...

The moment she glimpsed Riddle's handsome face over the over-turned desk Hermione pointed her wand at his face and cried _"Orchideous!"_

An enormous bunch of flowers burst from her wand and into his face, exhibiting a large amount of pollen. Tom staggered back and sneezed.

Leaping up from her hiding position, Hermione cried, _"Nebulosis!"_

A thick white fog surrounded the pair of them, but being the spell caster, it gave her the advantage of sight.

"_Avis!"_ she whispered and a flock of canaries burst from her wand tip and surrounded Riddle, who gazed at them apprehensively.

"_Oppugno!"_ she yelled and they shot down at him like fat yellow bullets.

Riddle had barely time to react. _"Impedimenta!"_ he bellowed and the twittering birds froze. She saw him search for her in the fog and quickly spotted her.

With a lazy flick of his wand he smirked

"_Muto animalis!_"

"Eeeek!" shrieked Hermione. "_RACOONS!"  
_The dozen of canaries she conjured had become bloodthirsty, flesh-eating, rabid racoons that were trying to gnaw her leg off. She let out a shriek as one climbed on to her bushy hair where it attempted to eat her ears.

"_Evanesco!"_ she yelled and they disappeared at once.

Furious, Hermione sent a bluebell flame straight at Riddle, singeing his robes.

The enchanted fog around them was starting to clear off fast and Hermione reacted so quickly that she surprised herself.  
"Vomica!" she shot the Stinging Hex at Riddle. She saw him grab his sore wrist in pain.

Hermione stole a glance at Harry and found him nodding in an oddly meaningful way. She gave him a look of understanding and beamed.  
_'Ohh, Riddle is going to love what's coming'_ she thought wickedly.

Hermione screwed up her face and imagined repeatedly banging Tom Riddle's head against a door.

She grinned broadly at the wistful thought and bellowed

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A huge dazzling silver-bright otter erupted from her wand and charged at a baffled Riddle, making him stumble over. The class gasped in unison.

Riddle got up furiously and vanished her patronus with a flick of his wand.

Hermione thought she'd never seen someone so angry in her life and stared at him in shock—was that the trick of the light, or did she just see his eyes flash red?

She aimed a Jelly-legs jinx at him but he blocked it. Voldemort looked at her through cold eyes then glanced up at the ceiling. She looked up too and her heart sank. Situated directly above them was the ancient, enormous skeleton of the Horntail. She glanced back at him and saw him smirking.

'_Oh no, he's going to Transfigure it to make it become alive'_ she realized in shock. '_I don't stand a chance against real dragons!'_

Voldemort's eyes glittered as he lifted his wand to the ceiling hissing, "_Draconif—_"

"MENDIOSIS!" Hermione gasped running forward pointing her wand at him. Her jinx hit his wand and caused his spell to mess up. She panted heavily and looked up at him smugly.

"Couldn't—couldn't let you do that," she said between breaths, she suddenly felt a little sick and keeled over, clutching her knees. Hermione started and remembered that she was still in the battle with You Know Who.

She drew her wand at the ready and saw him do the same.

Hermione backed away slowly and breathed heavily from exhaustion before she heard Harry yell.

"_Look out, it's going to fall!" _

Horrified, she looked up and saw the skeleton of the dragon tumbling. Tom felt the blood rush from his face.

"_Granger, get out of there!"_ he roared.

But she just stood there, rigid with shock staring up appalled as the gigantic Hungarian Horntail skeleton descend from the high arched ceilings.

There was no chance anyone could pull her to safety in time before the thing was going to crush her.

Before he knew it, Lord Voldemort hurtled over to Hermione, pulling her fiercely towards him, shielding her as the Horntail skeleton came crashing down on both of them.

The last thing Tom felt was the feeling of ribs being splintered and bones piercing his side.

...

* * *

...

Professor Merrythought gaped at his best students buried under the massive pile of dragon bones before he shouted "Everyone, at the same time…_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" everyone gasped, still aghast in shock.

The pile of bones levitated into the air, revealing the Head Girl and Boy on the ground, covered in blood.

Merrythought, Harry and Ron sprinted towards them. The classroom was filled with shrieks and shouts of horror.

The Defence against the Dark Arts professor bent down low and felt Hermione and Tom's pulse.

"Seems to be alive," muttered Merrythought, looking chalk white. "Snape, Trotter, help me levitate them to the Hospital Wing!"

Just as they headed out the door, Merrythought glanced back over his shoulder to the rest of the class who looked pale and scared.

"Er…" he said awkwardly, stumbling all over his words for the first time in decades. "Err…this match is a draw. Erm, and, uh, five Galleons to each one of you if you don't tell your parents about this…given the, um, past incidents leading to low enrolments to the school… "  
He trailed off awkwardly, looking rather helplessly at his pupils.

There was a shocked silence, broken by Alphard Black who began to clap enthusiastically. Everyone gave him a very black look. He looked rather taken back at their appalled faces.

"What?" he grinned. "A Galleon's a Galleon. Beggars can't always be choosers—just ask beaver-boy, Malfoy."

...

* * *

...

_How did you like this chapter?_

_Review! (I really enjoy long ones, just a fanciful hint!)_


	16. A Spate of Hate

**A/N: **

...

_Thank you so much again for all of your beautiful reviews! All of them were so lovely and made me laugh so much! In response to a few questions, I haven't actually had any time to do a real profile page since I'm always on the run and it's really rather hard for me to sit in one place and write a diary-like self assessment! But here's a little about myself:_

_I live in West Sussex, UK with my family and our scottish terrier, Walter. I'm currently attending uni and loving life!_

_Well, enough about me, let's get cracking into the story! _

_(P.S-JK owns these characters, not me!)_

_I hope you like this chapter and review, because I absolutely adore it when I read all of them! _

_ W.R._

* * *

.

* * *

.

**Chapter 16**

**A Spate of Hate**

...

.

* * *

...

* * *

...

Hermione's eyes snapped opened and her vision was filled with a blinding light.

"Whassa earth is happennun?" she groaned to the bright ceiling. Darn, but her throat felt so dry it ached.

"We've been taken here, so it seems," muttered a voice from her right.

Hermione's neck swiveled to the source of the mysterious voice, but the swift movement made her cry in shock at the sickening crick of her joint. A throbbing agony crept from her temples to all the way around her crown. She tried to rotate her right shoulder, but the small movement took a considerable effort such that she was left feeling nearly entirely depleted of energy. Heaving a soft sigh, she sunk her head further into an unusually thick, fluffy pillow.

Hermione blinked once, then twice, yet as her eyes adjusted to the bright, dazzling light, she could not comprehend the vision that swam into focus. Since blinking didn't hurt much, Hermione felt a little more hopeful and cleared her scratchy throat tentatively.  
"I know this is going to sound very typical," she said in a carefully soft voice to the bodiless voice. "But where the ruddy hell am I?"

She wondered vaguely what the object could be. Perhaps it was a magical wardrobe that could talk! Ah, she had always wanted one for her own room since her childhood when she'd read a story about one that could share splendid conversations with its mistress. She waited eagerly for it to answer.

"You're in the ruddy Hospital Wing," replied the voice irritably.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. Surely even a talking wardrobe couldn't possibly be _that_ rude.

With every ounce of strength she could muster, Hermione rolled over to her right, wincing slightly as her head pounded, and saw the vision of a long, broad, lean and immobile object. A shadowy handsome immobile object.  
She raised her eyebrows at the forbidding form of Tom Marvolo Riddle, stretched across an infirmary bed. His eyes were still tightly shut and his lean jaw was set, as though speaking required an inhuman effort. A thick wavy lock of dark hair fell across his frowning brow as he lay broodingly.

Hermione noticed that his robes were bloodstained, shining dully in the rosy afternoon sunbeams, filtered from the high arch windows. She noted dryly that even though he was sprawled on a hospital bed almost indignantly, Lord Voldemort still managed to resemble a magnificent, wounded knight.  
Her frown deepened. Why was Riddle in the Hospital Wing and wounded? Her eyes widened. Great Scot! Why on earth was _she_ here?

As if on cue, a flood of memories came crashing into Hermione's poor beleaguered mind. Turbulent images of the final duel flashed before her, as though a scene was playing backwards. _The tables, the flowers, the transfigured lion, the Patronus, the fog..._she shook her head slightly, as if to improve the clarity of her mind's eye. _The spinning blue flames, the revolving mirrors, the lovely blush of raccoons_, she gave a disgusted shudder, _and... ah yes...the Hungarian Horntail. And the inexplicable rush as strong arms encircled her..._

Hermione began blinking rapidly, trying to suppress that last thought. _What the devil is wrong with you, Hermione Granger?!_ Her brain snarled crossly.  
_Maybe those arms belonged to someone else, _she protested rather feebly. _  
Lies! _her brain scoffed back, _You're poisoning me with LIES!_

"Erm, shouldn't we be taken to St. Mungo's if a dragon skeleton fell on us?" she blurted out, still staring at his robes.

Hermione moved her eyes up to Riddle's face, but found that he still had his eyes shut tight and lips compressed irritably."Someone got up on the wrong side of the broom this morning," she smirked.

"Don't start," he said in a cold voice. "If you're not going to thank me, then please don't start _talking_. My head feels like someone's banged it repeatedly against a door."

Hermione gave a dry chuckle, pleased that her berating brain had stopped pestering her.  
"You know, you needn't have covered me when that skeleton fell," she said softly. "I believe you crushed half my bones in your attempt."

"In that case, I'm glad I did," Riddle growled, still refusing to open his eyes.

Hermione leaned over.  
"_Your fly's undone,_" she stage-whispered.

"Your undying hilarity never ceases to amaze me…"

Madam Brinksworth, the matron came bustling in. She was a wide-set woman who wobbled slightly as she hobbled up to them, placing a nurse's cap on the top of her snowy, permed bun.  
"Oh good," she said absently when she saw them. "Now that you're awake, let's check up on your progress."

"Progress?" echoed a startled Hermione, sitting up gingerly with one elbow bearing her weight . "What's wrong with me?" The elderly matron gave an impatient huff and pushed her back on the bed, inspecting Hermione's forehead with her grey-knotted hands.

"Oh, merely a broken hip bone, jagged wounds and three broken ribs," said Brinskworth airily, tapping on various parts of her shoulder. "Nothing to fret," she added to Hermione's startled expression. "I mended them in a heartbeat!"

Hermione was uncomfortable with the crone's fondling of her and tried to edge up into a sitting position again, but the matron firmly held her back.  
"You are not going anywhere, Miss Granger," she said sternly, pushing a tumbler of some sort of brown liquid in her hand. "Drink that as well, there's a good girl."

"I feel fine," protested Hermione, waving it away weakly. "I have to get back to Head duties…"

"Nonsense," spluttered Madam Brinksworth, putting her hands on her ample hips. "You will spend the night here and _do_ drink that before it gets cold!"

Turning her back firmly to an aghast Hermione, the matron bustled over to Riddle, giving him a generous smile.  
"And how are you feeling, dearie?" she queried in a much softer tone.

Hermione snorted at the injustice of the better treatment Lord Voldemort was receiving.

"I feel perfectly fine, owing to the meticulous care that your young, gentle hands have brought,"smiled Riddle, his voice as smooth as pure honey. The plump, gnarled hands of the fussy Madam Brinksworth clasped over her wrinkled cheeks in evident, blushing delight.  
Riddle cocked his head innocently. "Only, may I please leave? As delighted I am with you as my companion in this otherwise dreary Hospital Wing, I really must proceed to my common room. Being in seventh year is demanding on one's study schedule..."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the subtle insult directed at her. _Dreary!? I'll show _you_ dreary..._her mind grumbled.

"Now, now Tom," said the nurse maternally, lifting up his shirt and examining his bandages. "You've lost almost five pints of blood and broke your shoulder-blade. I hardly think it appropriate to try to over-exert yourself for _one_ night."  
Brinskworth gently helped him sit upright and began checking his bones.

Hermione watched shamelessly as Riddle's jaw clenched when Madam Brinksworth squeezed his left shoulder.

"Still sore?" she asked shrewdly. "Best lie down for now, my darling. It's almost three-thirty. Dinner has already begun downstairs. Would you like me to bring you supper?"

Hermione scowled blackly behind the nurse's back.  
Tom Riddle noticed her glower and looked over, raising his brows slightly as though he were vastly amused.  
Hermione saw a ghost of a smirk on the corner of his mouth before it disappeared, turning into an enchantingly masculine smile aimed at the poor, half-dazzled matron.  
"Oh, well—I couldn't _possibly_ ask …" he purred, breaking off artistically.

"Nonsense," said Madam Brinksworth, a little flustered and using very different tone to Hermione. "I'll bring you dessert, too. Goodness knows you'll need that extra food from losing so much blood from that ridiculously brave antic."

And without a backward glance at Hermione, the nurse strode out of the hospital wing, humming happily.

"You know," said Hermione through gritted teeth. "I'd have liked some dinner too, but did she care? _Nooooooo._"

Her growling stomach fueled her already patchy mood, and she rounded on the man beside her.  
"And what is it with you, anyway?" she said crossly. "Why are you so intent on being a brown-noser to all of the staff? Do you honestly believe they'll give you better grades, or something?"

The Heir of Slytherin eyed her impassively, not even bothering to mask his boredom.  
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said calmly, raising a haughty brow.

"I'm in _all of your classes_, Riddle!" said Hermione angrily. "I've seen the way you kiss up to everyone, from Dippet to Slughorn."

His returning narrow look told her that he thought her the worst, most insignificant speck of grime.  
"You'd better drink that potion before it gets cold," he said icily.

Hermione glared at him for a long moment before lifting the vile concoction to her nose and gingerly giving it a sniff.  
"It smells like death," she complained, wincing as the acrid fumes stung her nostrils. "Just what I need to replenish a near-fatal blood-loss. To have a nourishing dinner made of liquid poop."

"Do enjoy," sneered Tom from his bed, using his wand to casually tear the white linen sheets which bound him to his mattress prison. Taking an impatient intake of breath, he heaved himself into a standing position, using the bedside to secure his unsteady legs.

"Where the deuced Ravenclaw are you going?" demanded Hermione as watched him slide on his shoes. "You're _supposed_ to stay the night. You are hardly in any shape to leave!"

"Don't pretend you care about my welfare," said Riddle in a low, cold voice. "Besides. Recall that _you_ are the reason why I am held here in the first place."  
He tried to lean away from the bedside, but his left leg suddenly wobbled violently. _"What the devil—?"_

"What's the matter now?" she sniffed disdainfully from her bed.

"Can't feel my leg," he muttered, setting back down on the bed and frowning interestedly at the gimp limb.

"You prat," said Hermione scornfully. "You've paralyzed your leg, haven't you? Now you can't move it."

"I've worked that one out for myself, funnily enough," he returned snidely, running his hand along it.

His supercilious tone did nothing to improve Hermione's astonishing aggravation. As if her brain had given up on her and left for it's secret lover, Hermione suddenly sprang out of bed, ignoring the slight bedridden dizziness and pain as she stomped straight over to Lord Voldemort.

And kicked hard at his paralyzed leg.

"Feel anything, now?" she demanded, clenching her fists.

The look he gave her was so lethal that Hermione thought he was going to send her straight back into a Petrified state. But when he spoke, his voice was strangely low.  
"No," said Riddle, his gray eyes glittering dangerously. "But it would be greatly appreciated if you did not go about assaulting other people with your ungainly limbs, Miss Granger."

Hermione ignored his dire warning and drew out her wand from her robes.

His eyes narrowed. "Don't even think about it," he whispered, twirling his own through his long fingers.

Hermione gritted her teeth.  
"So very, _very_ tempting," she growled, cracking her knuckles in a Crabbe-like fashion.

"I would hate to start another Duel with you, Gryffindor," he said, tilting his head mockingly. The look in his eyes promised her heavy retribution.

"Then lie down and be quiet," ground Hermione, still simmering with barely controlled annoyance at the domineering, arrogant and frosty Slytherin. She forced herself to calm down, walking back to her own bed, but spun around halfway.

"If you hadn't attempted that ridiculous Transfiguration on the dragon skeleton, then we wouldn't be in here, so you needn't make such a fuss," she snapped angrily.

"If I recall properly—and I know I have—you were the one who mutilated my spellwork," said Riddle, his smouldering eyes flashing. "If you had—"

"What? Allowed you to Transfigure it to make it alive? Then it would've _eaten_ me, you horrible man!" spat Hermione.

"A great improvement on your part, no doubt," he returned, rotating his shoulder in lightly, his face showing utmost disdain.

"That's a horrible thing to say about yourself," Hermione snarled, knowing that it was certainly not her finest display of drollery. But she was far too incensed and hungry to even comprehend the surge of words flowing freely from her lips.  
"Besides," she said, gritting her teeth. "If you're so eager to leave now, then why did you even bother risking your superior Slytherin hide to help me? You could have saved your own neck…"

Riddle gave her a hard stare from his bed. "I couldn't have allowed you to die on my watch...at the time, when you were barely out of my reach," he said coldly."And some may go so far as to say it is my responsibility to look after _such students_ within this castle."

"_Such students?"_ she echoed indignantly. "In case if you have forgotten, Riddle. I am the _Head Girl _of this school, even if it clearly offends you…"

"Really? Head Girl?" said Riddle, his eyes glinting maliciously. "You could have fooled me."

"_What_," Hermione hissed dangerously, her eyes flashing as she sat bolt upright. "Is that supposed to mean?"

Riddle smirked as he surveyed her angry form.  
"Hmm," he mused, tapping his chiseled jaw thoughtfully. "Let's see, shall we? You don't do your Head duties, you don't assist your colleagues in organizing events, you don't look after students and you haven't even met the other Prefects." He paused in mock surprise. " Well, you've most certainly proved to be a contributive one. I'd say job well done, wouldn't you agree?"

Hermione speared him with a venomous glare.  
"I've already met most of the Prefects," she ground. "And you've also seemed to have forgotten that I arrived here _last week_!"

"It seemed much, much longer than that," he sneered. "I could have sworn you've been here for at least a decade, the way you swagger around this place, acting as though you know everything about everyone, including me."

"I know enough," hissed Hermione, glaring daggers at the future Dark Lord.

Riddle's cold gaze turned to steel.  
"A heavy mistake on your part, " he said quietly.

Hermione gave an angry sniff. Blood was pounding in her head, making her light-headed, yet doing nothing to ebb her fury.  
"You know you become really annoying when you're all pessimistic," she mocked. "I can see why you go for the whole Revenge-on-the-World part."

Tom Riddle froze, his eyes darting away to the door for a fraction of a second, before resting upon hers.  
His silver eyes bore into hers,  
"I beg your pardon?"he asked softly, his expression remaining eerily composed.

And the fool she was, Hermione completely ignored the hazardous undertone in his deceptively calm demeanor.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about," said Hermione, plunging on recklessly. "Chamber of Secrets? Death Eaters? Attacks on Muggleborns? Murdering your relatives?"

Hermione watched as the color drained from his face upon hearing her last accusation.  
"Yes," she said, a small grimace thinning her lips. "I know about that too."

Riddle's face still remained impassive, but his cold eyes hardened into twin grey diamonds.  
"You don't know what you're talking about," he said in a low voice.

But Hermione wasn't through with her burning, yet.  
"I know you killed your father when you were sixteen," she said cruelly. "And I know you stole that ring you're wearing from your uncle—I know what goes on in your life that would make your hair congeal."

He did not reply this time.  
Turning away from her, Riddle stared silently at his right middle finger where the black and gold ring was glinting.  
"How long have you known?" he said, barely in a whisper.

"Ages," Hermione said in an apprehensive voice. "I've known before I arrived here."  
She blinked. And felt the blood in her face drain from having finally realized what she had just done.  
As if all of her senses had returned, Hermione felt a spreading pool of surmounting fear constricting her lungs. Her heart went racing and she fought to keep her breathing even.  
Her instincts cried for her to run, screaming: WHY THE HELL ARE YOU STILL STANDING THERE, HERMIONE GRANGER?! _RUN FOR YOUR BLOODY LIFE!!_  
But she remained rooted on the spot, unable to move, staring at the dark-haired Lord Voldemort as though she were mesmerized.

The silence stretched on until he slowly lifted his head. His face was like a mask, completely devoid of any emotion.  
His eyes looked dead, so cold that they sent tremors down her spine.  
"You should have kept it to yourself," he whispered in a deadly voice. "You shouldn't have have told me this…"

The next moment Madam Brinksworth came bustling back in the ward with a huge silver platter containing an assortment of rich dishes, balanced by her wand.

"Here you are, dearie," she cooed to Riddle. Her smile faltered at the sight of him.  
"What's the matter, Tom? You look ever so pale."

Hermione lowered her eyes, trying not to meet anyone's gaze, particularly his. But somehow she knew he would not be able to look at her, anyway.

"Oh, I'm…very well," she heard him reply softly, vacantly. "You are very generous to bring me this, but I don't think I'm quite hungry anymore."

"Oh, that's alright then, I suppose," said the old matron, eyeing him apprehensively, vanishing the platter with a wave of her wand. She conjured up a potion and held it to the dark Slytherin.  
"Here, take this and try to get some rest, Mr. Riddle."

Hermione watched as he took a goblet from her and sipped it. He immediately fell back gently to his pillow.

Madam Brinksworth glanced over her shoulder at Hermione.  
"You should probably take your potion too, Miss Granger,"she said kindly, as though only just noticing the small brunette. "It's a Sleeping Draught."

"A peculiar colour," smiled Hermione weakly, looking at the hideous gunky brown concoction in her hand. "I remember brewing up one, though in a traditional shade and texture."

The matron beamed at her. "This one's a much _lighter_ concentration than your usual draughts," she said. "It's supposed to merely calm your nerves and help you sleep for a few hours."

"Thank you Madam Brinksworth," said Hermione politely, still shaking slightly from the aftermath of the confrontation.  
"And thank you for dinner, by the way," she added with a slight wry twist of her lips before draining the potion.

The last thing she felt was the softness enveloping her, surrounding her with a faint sense of tranquility before her heavy eyelids slowly closed, allowing her to forget the trepidation and anxiety she felt that was straining her soul.

If only the ominous sense of foreboding would, too, disappear with something as simple as an elixir...

...

* * *

.

Tom Marvolo Riddle's eyes flew open in the darkness.  
What the devil was that sound? He definitely heard it somewhere close by...persistent enough to penetrate through the effects of the sleeping draught.  
He glimpsed down at himself and noted that he was still in adorned in his robes. At least the plump, elderly matron managed to clear away the blood, he thought grimly.

Tom stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, wondering why he was feeling so mutinous and cold.

Then it came to him...

Jane Granger.

He closed his eyes for a brief second before re-opening them only to meet the dull, tarnished face of an old, bronzed clock in front of him, reflected by the waning moonlight. It read three thirty.

As though the hour triggered his memory, he suddenly remembered with a freezing jolt in the pit of his stomach.

_She knows..._

The Gryffindor knew about the murders he had committed; the murder of his father. His grandparents. She knew about his contrivance to frame Morfin Gaunt over their murders and stolen the Gaunt heirloom on top of that.

Tom continued to stare at the ceiling for a long time. A million thoughts were coursing through his mind like poison.  
He continued to gaze at the same spot on the ceiling, pondering. Brooding on how he were to get away if she told someone about the murders he committed.

He thought of the consequences which would arise if she told another soul. The teachers would re-investigate and drag in the Ministry to question him. Perhaps use Legilimency and force him to take Veritaserum. Then once they'd managed to extract the truth from him, he would be expelled from Hogwarts; his home, the place where he'd only been happy, forever…

Tom suddenly leapt out of his bed, flinging aside the sheets. They floated gracefully down to the stone-cold tiles like a gentle moonbeam dance.  
Thankfully, his wounds have long healed while he had been asleep and there was no more pain, nor paralysis.  
Nor anything…

Pulling out his wand as he slowly strode across the deserted infirmary, he casually flicked it in the direction of the Matron's office. A few silver sparks erupted from his wand tip.  
_Good_, he thought dispassionately. _She won't have the need to listen to what I am about to do._

He suddenly stopped walking and shut his eyes, clenching his fist, fighting resignation against…uncertainty.  
It couldn't be a conscience, he thought bitterly. It had died a long time ago, along with his soul.  
'_I have to do it,'_ he thought forebodingly. '_She cannot tell anyone—I can't risk letting her go again.'_

He looked down at her bed and found it empty. The sheets were smoothed and folded neatly, the ends tucked underneath the feather mattress as if the bed had been unoccupied for several hours.  
Frowning, he scanned around the length of the cavernous ward, searching for its only patient.

His eyes flickered and rested upon the far left corner of the infirmary, near where the door was. The second last bed to the bare white walls rustled slightly, as though someone was moving restlessly.

She had obviously been moved to this bed for privacy.

Tom strolled slowly towards the bed, holding his wand tightly with his long fingers, his face set in cool determination. She soon came into view.

He paused in front of her bed and watched her face as she slept fitfully; slightly surprised at how different she looked from the last time he had seen her in this condition. A thick lock of sepia hair curled around her dampened forehead. Her skin appeared ghostly and clammy beneath the silvery-blue moonlight, streaming through the high windows above her bed. Her normally rosy lips were pale as death, pursing tightly while she shivered convulsively in her sleep.

Tom continued to gaze at her, concentrating on his conflicting thoughts. If he were to simply modify her memory, then she needn't die. Sure, he had killed for less, but then again, knowing his deepest secrets which could prove to produce the worst consequences is another thing. A Memory Charm would be nothing compared to death. However, there was the slight snag that she had known his secrets for quite some time now…

If he did indeed, erase her memory—he was not completely certain how much to remove. And the result may be disastrous. Her mind could be completely destroyed.

However, the result would still be preferable to death...

His grip tightened on the handle of his wand.  
Very well, if he were to modify her memory, who would he pin the culpability on this time?  
Lord Voldemort meditated on this. Perhaps a student who disliked her? No, quite unnecessary. He would use Madam Brinksworth. She was the easiest option. Having neared the age of eighty five, everyone would readily deem her to be senile.  
He frowned slightly. Would she be placed in Azkaban for attempted murder? Perhaps if he planted a false memory into the aging crone, which implicated that she had given Jane a particularly strong Obviation Potion instead of the Sleeping Draught… then someone would vouch for her innocence…

With a resolute face, he stared down almost ruefully at the sleeping face of Jane Granger.

"I regret it," he said quietly raising his wand.

"But I cannot allow you to keep your memories."

_Do it now! _hissed a venomous voice in his head. _She will expose you for what you are! She will destroy everything. Your plans, your ambitions, your life, your future…_

_I've done worse before_, he reminded himself firmly.

Then why is this suddenly so hard?

Jane shifted her head restlessly in her sleep and he caught a whiff of her intoxicating smell. _Roses and honeysuckle_…  
He felt his jaw constrict.

But _what if_…  
What if he decided to go against his instincts, this time?

And what if he decided to trust her, just this once?

He gazed at her pale, clammy face with his wand held ready. She looked like an innocent. So pure, so cleansed and so lovely in the moonlight with her thick, long lashes resting upon her cheeks. And her lips looked oddly enchanting when they weren't pouring insults and threats to him, he noted wryly.

Tom's hand shook and he lowered his wand.  
'_I can't do it,'_ he thought, disgusted. _'She hasn't done anything to me'_.  
He took a step back from her. What a waste of a good mind if he were to debilitate it with a curse.  
He stowed his wand slowly without looking at it.

"Don't!" she suddenly gasped in a strangled voice.

Voldemort gave a start and stared down at her, in utter disbelief.  
Surely she did not _want_ him to obliviate her?

"Let them go!" she cried in the same pained voice, her body wracked with tremors.

Intrigued, Tom stepped closer to her.  
Her eyes were still squeezed tightly. He could see movement beneath her creamy lids, an attestation to one who was lost in a deep dream.

"Let her go, p-please," she whimpered and he was amazed to see tears streaming rapidly from beneath her lashes.  
'I'll—I'll do anything, please just let her go…"

He stared at her, bewildered.  
As though his mind no longer controlled his body, Tom found himself sliding to a crouch beside her. Curiosity overcame him as he leaned closer to hear her.

She was beginning to sob softly.  
'No… R-Remus, s-stay… D-Don't leave, you can't leave me, please!" she choked in a strangled voice.

Was this Remus someone she was in love with? Tom glanced quickly at the matron's office to ensure that his spell was still intact.  
He returned his gaze to the crying Head Girl. His narrowed eyes slowly desisted and he warily extended a long-fingered hand to lightly nudge her trembling shoulder.  
It was as if he were controlled by the same force that made him dive over her earlier that day.  
But for an utterly foreign reason…

He didn't want her to feel this pain.

"Wake up," he said quietly, lowering himself beside her bed. "It's just a nightmare—"

His eyes fell to her right hand which was trembling. He hesitated then cautiously took it, slightly surprised by how icy they felt.  
Ironically, it mirrored the sensation he felt inside.  
Tom pulled himself away from his morbid thoughts and focused on Jane who he realized was trapped inside a nightmare, unable to awaken. The least he could do was perhaps offer a familiar voice. Even one he knew she despised.

"Calm down," he murmured calmingly. "You'll be fine, Granger. It's just a dream…"  
He kept his eyes locked on her face, watching as tears ceaselessly flowed beneath those dark lashes, staining her cheeks.

'It's just a nightmare,' he said quietly. 'Just a—'

"_Kill me_!" she shrieked suddenly, alarming him.  
Tom stared at the distressed girl as she managed to choke out, "No, leave them _alone_, it's _me_ you want!"

He frowned, looking down at her ashen face. Who was after her?

Her whole body shook as she sobbed.  
"All, my fault…all my fault," she whimpered, her voice cracking with the strain. "...all mine..."

Tom narrowed his gray eyes.  
It suddenly occurred to him that this was no ordinary nightmare she was having.  
It was a _memory_...one which involved horrific murders…

'_I suppose I'm not the only one between us hiding a dark past, after all,'_ he thought harshly, his hand loosening its hold.  
But to his slight surprise, the girl held on.

Jane's sobbing slowly subsided after what felt like a long time, her breathing returning to a normal pattern. He felt her grip on his hand relax under his simple gesture.

Tom released her hand and stood up, not being able to believe what he had just witnessed.  
Or what he was about to accomplish in order to protect himself.

He stared down for one last time into her now peaceful, sleeping face.  
Finally tearing his gaze away from her, he slowly retreated from the bed, shrouding himself within the surrounding darkness.

And for the first time in his life…

.

...Tom Riddle fled.

.

.


	17. A Dreadful Discussion

.

* * *

.

**Chapter 17**

**A Dreadful Discussion **

.

* * *

...

"Hermione, Hermione!"

Hermione drowsily grunted and opened her eyes. Harry, Ron, Percivas and Dean were all smiling down at her.

"Nice to see you back in the land of the living," said Ron, patting her on the foot. She groaned and propped herself up on her elbows grimacing.

"Something wrong, Hermione?" asked Harry worriedly, furrowing his brows. "You look terrible!"

"Oh yeah, that's _exactly_ what a girl wants to hear first thing in the morning," said Dean, rolling his eyes while Ron sniggered.

But something reawakened a memory in Hermione's mind, last night's dream—nightmare—about lost friends. She'd woken up at about four in the morning with the most peculiar feeling of comforting words that entered in her dreams. She had kept her eyes closed and smelled the most intriguing woodsy scent—something like forest pines before rolling over and falling back into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

She sat up a little further and looked around the ward. She felt her heart sink; Riddle had already left.

"Hermione, can you hear us? We're talking to you…" Came Ron's anxious voice. She forced her gaze back to her friend's freckled face.

"I—oh, just feeling a little, erm, tired," she sighed, deciding not to tell them about her dream "you were saying…?"

Harry looked doubtfully at her "Yeah, well, we were just saying how great you were at smiting Riddle yesterday"

"Oh!" she said, a small smile creeping on her face. "Yeah, it was so weird, Harry, you wouldn't believe it."

"Bloody brilliant!" insisted Ron, sitting down on her bed. "You scared the heck out of us when you did that fog thing with your wand…"

She laughed. "An evil little witch I was," she said cackling. "But it sure pays off to see his face when I sent those birds at his face."

"Yeah, but he turned them into raccoons, remember?" smirked Percivas, sitting on her other side.

She shuddered. "Urgh, raccoons, please don't remind me…"

Ron and Dean jumped up and flailed the arms and legs ridiculously. "Eeeeeeek! Raccoons!" they shrieked, doing an uncanny impersonation of her.

Hermione scowled as everyone started to laugh.

"Better be careful" she warned, tapping her wand on her palm threateningly. "If I can wallop Riddle's hide then I can _certainly_ blister yours."

Harry wiped his eyes on the back of his hand.  
"Alright, alright," he said. "If you want to go to class Hermione, we'd better leave soon, or you'll miss out on History of Magic and Divination, not to mention double Potions, this afternoon."

"Urgh," shuddered Hermione, disappointed. "I'd rather have another match with that falling Horntail skeleton."

"Come, come," smirked Ron. "We don't want you to miss out on spying Riddle—he's bound to want to rip your head off after you showed him up yesterday."

He and Harry each took Hermione by an arm and heaved her out of her bed.

"Thanks," she said, brushing herself. "That reminds me…I, er, kind of told Riddle that I knew about him murdering his relatives—"

"You WHAT?" came from four different sources.

"Are you serious, Hermione?" asked Harry, his mouth gaping. "What did he say?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "He didn't say much; just that I should have kept to myself—"

"Oh, no," said Ron, holding a fist to his mouth in shock. "He's going to murder you in your sleep, now! Oh no, oh no…" He suddenly seized her robes and tried to tug her out of bed.

"Quickly Hermione," he moaned, looking around in fright. "We have to hide you. Harry, do you know how to do that Fidellius Spell? Or maybe we can just hide her somewhere You-Know-Who won't be able to find her…the Chamber of Secrets, or something?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," she snapped, putting her hands on her hips. "If he was going to murder me in my sleep then he would've done so last night when I was wandless, asleep and more vulnerable then you could have ever imagined!"

"But he couldn't have because there was no one to frame!" argued Ron.

Harry shook his head at Ron, to everyone's surprise. "That wouldn't've been a problem, mate. I know Riddle's style; he would have just pinned it on Madam Brinksworth or summoned a house-elf…"

"Still," said Ron stubbornly. "It would've looked extremely suspicious if the Head Girl was murdered in her sleep after a duel with _You-Know-Who_ in a deserted Hospital ward."

"Dumbledore would have suspected something, of course," muttered Percivas, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Well, he would _know_, since you guys told him all about this Lord Voldemort…"

"Besides," said Dean, gripping his wand very tightly. "We'd've all murdered him by now if he tried."

Hermione looked at him, touched. It was so nice to have two Harrys, she thought, happily.

Clearing her throat, loudly she said, "The fact remains that he _hasn't_ killed me." Looking around at them sternly, "Even after I told him that I knew his darkest secrets, he didn't kill me when he had the chance."

"Maybe he'll try it some other time when he's sure to find someone else to blame it on," suggested Ron darkly.

She shook her head. "That wouldn't work, because if he waited for that long, then I'd have had enough time to blab to the whole world!"

Ron looked stumped. "So, so you're saying that—"

"—he let you off the hook?" finished Harry. There was a pause.

"That's the only conspiracy that makes _any_ sense," said Hermione slowly. "And putting aside murder, Riddle could've cast a Memory Charm on me last night, but he didn't…" her voice ended a little softer than she would've liked it to and blushed.

"We don't know how his mind works, Hermione," said Harry gently.

"I still don't _understand,_" said Hermione shaking her head, frustrated. "If murder was out of the question, then why not cast a Memory charm on me instead? He would've had a perfect alibi—"

"Which was?"

Hermione stared at Harry. "Madam Brinksworth gave us both Sleeping Draughts; but different kind to the ones we're used to taking," she said slowly. "He took his before I did and fell asleep instantly…"

"And that's not to mention that he could implant false memories into the matron, making her think that she remembers giving you a, I dunno, an Elixir of Efficacy—" frowned Harry. "Then he'd have gotten away with it!"

"Let's not forget the fact that poor old besotted Dippet would do everything he can to keep Riddle from getting expelled," said Percivas, gloomily.

"So Riddle really didn't want to kill Hermione after all…" said Harry, running a hand through his hair wearily.

"Alright," snapped Ron. "But don't forget that they practically sleep together—"

"_Ron!" _

"In the same dormitory," he finished looking indignant. "He could have plenty of chances when she's asleep _then._"

"Let's not forget that no one can enter a Head Girls headquarters without an invitation," said Hermione loftily. "The founders of Hogwarts made sure they enchanted the room when she enters her chosen dormitory as you well know, _Ron,_" she added rather significantly.

Harry stared. "What—" he began.

Ron went red and muttered. "Tried to surprise her one night and the moment I touched the doorknob, I got thrown back across the room and grew and extra arm on my forehead."

"Ouch," said the boys, smirking and Ron gave them a withering look.

"Fine, then," said Ron, relenting at last. "Riddle doesn't want to murder or attack you for some weird reason—_sinister_, no doubt," he added and Hermione rolled her eyes. "So I guess we have it settled that the fellow showed some kind out uncharacteristic tact, then?"

She waved an impatient hand. "Ron, I don't mean to be rude," she snarled. "But can we just leave it at that?—I'll deal with him later, but what I need right now is a bath and maybe a can bleach to drink." she added with a growl, annoyed that Ron was being so stubborn, irritating and persistent.

"Well, anything that'll improve your breath," he returned and made a great show of backing away.

"Hark who's talking?" she retorted. "Ever heard of a bath, Weasley? You smell like old goaty men," she pointed her wand at him grinning maliciously.

"Scourgify!"

Ron's face immediately frothed all over his face—obscuring his vision and obstructing his mouth. Harry, Dean and Percivas guffawed at a brightly pink bubbly Ron.

Harry reached over to Hermione and gave her a Toothflossing Stringmint then ran away as fast as he could when she growled.

* * *

Hermione emerged to History of Magic, thankfully smelling as fresh as a daisy. She took a seat next to Harry and Ron (who she eventually dried off out of guilt). She glanced around the classroom and couldn't find Tom anywhere in sight.

"Any of you seen, Riddle?" she muttered hopefully to her friends. They all shook their heads 'no' and her spirits sank a little. She couldn't help but feel a little resentful at Professor Binn's today for making the hour and a half of History of Magic, one of the dullest classes she'd ever had to sit through today—even by Binn's standards.

Divination was a little similar; except that Hermione chose a seat next to nice bunch of Gryffindors including Phyllis Pemberly, who spent most of the lesson immersed in conversation about politics and heartily abusing Philip Pullwark, the current Minster of Magic. Professor Plight had had to separate the group three times for incessant chattering that apparently 'disrupted the aura' of her classroom.

'Yeah, sure," said Peony Otford, a sandy haired girl with a pointy nose scowling. "She's just saying that because she was sacked from the Ministry six years ago from the Department of Magical Co-operation for her regular insistence of reading her colleague's entrails." causing Hermione to gag on her tea.

Potions was a much more enjoyable affair, with twenty steaming cauldrons full of disastrous attempts at brewing Funiculus Fortuna—a particularly difficult potion used to bestow temporary buoyancy and self-confidence. Since Tom Riddle was absent from class, Hermione was the Potions Prodigy in today's lesson, being the only person to master the potion and earn her house a fifty point bonus much to every Gryffindor's delight. Slughorn was so impressed with her performance that he actually requested a portion of the potion.

"I think I could've used a bit of that on me," moaned Ron, stirring feebly at the contents of his cauldron, which had turned into a bean-curd-like mush.

Harry didn't reply; he was too preoccupied with putting his head out of fire that had blasted from his cauldron when he wasn't looking.

"Tsk, tsk," smiled Slughorn, jovially. "Too much spine of Ramora, Barry! Allow me—" He pointed his wand calmly at Harry and the fire went out at once.

Harry grinned sheepishly as he felt his head which was completely bald.

"I think our esteemed Madam Brinksworth can grow your hair back in no time, Mr. Trotter," said Slughorn genially and Harry hurried off amidst hearty gales of laughter, grinning himself.

When the bell rang, Hermione leapt up from her cauldron and corked a large flask and handed it to Slughorn, who looked rather paternally proud at her.

"Very good, Miss Granger, very good, thank you! I'm sure my fourth years would love to use this. All in good fun, of course," he added. "Marshall Gudgeon, poor boy, needs the lot if he's attempting to ask Miss Meredith Sinclair to accompany him on the next Hogsmeade trip." Hermione beamed at him, surprised at his tactfulness.

"Oh, by the way, Miss Granger," said Slughorn, pocketing the bright blue pearly potion. "Have you any chance of seeing Mr. Riddle, today? He's never missed a single class, before…" Hermione gave him a grim smile; poor Professor Slughorn, so hopelessly deluded by Riddle's charm, unable to see his that his favourite student was, well—

"Um, no, sir," she said regrettably. "I haven't seen him since I woke up in the Hospital Wing. I'm sure he's feeling unwell because he's skived off two other of our classes, today."

"Oho, dear," laughed Slughorn. "I know _that_. From what Galatea told me, you two had quite the duel, yesterday—I saw Tom this morning but he was in such a hurry that I could barely get a word in edgewise, but could you give this to him, from me?"

Slughorn passed two familiar violet-ribboned invitations. "For you and him," he said bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Friday—in a fortnight, bring whomever you wish!"

"Thank you sir," said Hermione politely taking them. "I'll give this to him when I see him." And Slughorn waved her off.

"Where've you been Hurgh-My-o-knee?" demanded Ron at the Slytherin table with Harry as he shovelled down mashed potatoes.

"Slughorn invites," she replied. "Glad to see you've grown back your hair, Barry Trotter," she added to Harry whose hair had grown back to its messy consistency.

"She barely touched my head and the whole thing grew back after she mended the burn," he said thickly through three steak and kidney pies.

Hermione nodded and polished off her goulash.

"Mmm," she grinned reaching out for one of Ron's chocolate cupcakes, he stabbed at her hand angrily with his fork, growling.

Harry and Hermione laughed. Alphard Black who was sitting four seats away from them surrounded by friends frowned

"Really, Severus," he scolded. "That's no way to treat a lady."

"He sounds like Sirius, too," muttered Hermione to Harry and beaming at his good-looking form.

"All right there, Barry, Jane?" Black added, with a friendly grin. "Good job with Riddle yesterday," he gave Hermione a mock salute. "Persia told me that we ought to hold a Prefect meeting sometime this week in preparation for Halloween."

"Ooh, yes," nodded Hermione putting down her cake that she stole from Ron when he wasn't looking. "I'll tell Riddle when I see him, thanks for telling me."

He nodded briefly and caught the sight of someone over the Ravenclaw table. "OK, I'll talk to you guys later," he said, getting up, his friends following.

"About time," Hermione heard one of his seventh year friends mutter. "Thought he'd never leave…"

"I'm glad that Sirius had such a cool Uncle, like him," said Ron. "I mean, like godfather, like Uncle, huh?"

"Well, Sirius was a little more haughty and wild during his days," said Harry slowly, watching his godfather's uncle amble over to the Ravenclaw table and chatting animatedly with a group of friendly-looking seventh years with his friends "he was kind of exclusive as well, being a Marauder with my Dad…"

"I suppose," said Ron thoughtfully, using his fork to scratch his ear. "Black seems really friendly though—but not a charismatic way, like Riddle."

Hermione choked on her pumpkin juice.

"What do you mean?" she spluttered, looking around for a napkin.

"People seem drawn to Riddle, yet they're sort of wary of him at the same time. You remember Harry saying that the Riddle who came out of the diary said he could charm the people he could use?"

"Well, he definitely doesn't want to use me," said Hermione stiffly crossing her arms. "Tries to _scare_ me, more like."

"Yeah, I suppose his people are kind of scared of him a little because they can sense the power radiating from him."

"Thank you for your warning, Ron," said Hermione frostily. "The next time I see him I'll use that as a compliment '_I find you really charismatic because you radiate a sense of power.'_"

"Anyway," she said coolly, "I'd say that _you_ possess the same sort of qualities, too. Except that you radiate a disgusting odor."

Ron gaped in alarm and began sniffing his underarms. "I do not!" he shouted indignantly.

Hermione reached over and patted his arm condescendingly. "Then stop judging people before you've had at least _one_ proper conversation with them."

"Hark who's talking! _You_ practically savaged Riddle with your verbal talons ever since you set foot here," he scoffed.

"That was _before_ I realized that he didn't want to murder me," she snapped.

"Yet," added Ron darkly.

Hermione gaped at him angrily. "Do you _have_ to be so insensitive all the time?!" she demanded. "Would it _kill _you to see things from someone else's perspective for just _one_ measly second?"

Without bothering to wait for Ron's reply she jumped up

"Now if you two would excuse, me," she snarled. "I'm going up to the library to research on something that _doesn't_ involve that blasted Riddle—a subject that Won-Won is seemingly so well adept to. Maybe you should take over—or better yet, ask him out while he's still in the market for a lover!"

With that she spun on her heel and stalked out of the Great Hall with a swish of her robes.

"Harry!" said Ron, rounding off on his best friend. "You just sat there and let me have it! Why didn't you back me up?"

"Because, _Ron,_" Harry explained earnestly. "I'd like to father children one day."

"Yeah, with my_ sister,_" growled Ron, looking mutinous.  
When Harry beamed toothily at him, Ron seized a cupcake and threw it at his head.

* * *

Hermione strolled around the library shelves, purposely avoiding Madam Scrinium, the tiny old, beady eyed witch who bore very similar characteristics to Madam Pince when it came to touching her precious books.

There were a large number of books on the subject of Time, however, many of them, were as useless as Flobberworm stools when it came to Time Traveling.

Hermione shoved back _'Charm your way to Timeless Wart Fashion'_ back on its shelf and walked briskly to the Restricted Section which was thankfully empty.

It was fairly dim, but Hermione could _just_ make out the titles of the books.

_Tick-Tock the clock strikes One, When there's a Ding-Dong, there's a Way, Turnabout Eras, Watches and Wizards…_Hermione crammed all the books into her arms.

One of the books from an upper shelf slipped down and banged her on the head.

Cursing, she picked it up.

"_Moste Potente Potions,_" she read, happily. "I remember _you,_" she added it to her pile. She walked a little closer to the left of the Section and caught a whiff of an oddly intriguing woodsy smell of forest pines.

She followed her nose to the corner of the room and saw a dark shadowy figure sitting in the corner.

"Good Godric!" she yelped and jumped back a foot into the shelves, a whole pile of very heavy books toppled over her head. Cursing again, this time inwardly, she flicked her wand at them, causing them to soar back neatly on the shelves.

Tom Riddle looked up from a book he was reading and quickly shoved it into his bag lying on the ground, not before Hermione recognized it as '_Magicke Moste Evile'_. She felt her heart sink; did he _always_ skulk in the library to read on Dark magic? And she was starting to like him…

"Hello there," she said cheerfully, ignoring the book, which was hanging out of his bag. "Bit dim in here, don't you think?"

He shrugged and picked up another book, pretending to be immersed in it.  
"And I'm sure your presence has improved it," he said indifferently.

Hermione didn't know whether to take it as an insult or a compliment, instead, she contented herself with staring at the cover of the book, which was upside-down.

"_Hogwarts: a History_, eh?" she grinned, revolving her head on its side to read the cover. "Last time I checked, the writing was supposed to be printed perpendicular to the ground."

Tom noticed her stare and righted his book. "I was looking at a _footnote,_" he informed her coldly.

"So touchy," she said ostentatiously with a grin. "I never knew that anyone else besides me used this for light reading," she added.

Tom looked mildly curious. "Oh? You've actually read the entire thing?"

She nodded. "I memorized most of it," she said jovially. "Scary, no?"

"I thought you just arrived here," he said shrewdly and Hermione's smiled faltered

"I, er, read it prior to coming here…a little background information, you see…" she muttered, reaching over for a book in her stack.

"I see," he said, looking back at his book.

It wasn't uncomfortable to be sitting here with the Dark Lord, but Hermione felt strapped for conversation. She felt suddenly irritated because she knew that Riddle could've been very helpful if he tried.

"I especially like reading these kinds of books about the school," she said carefully, directing their conversation to something useful. "I like them for the _history._"

Although Riddle didn't reply, she saw that he had set his book down by a fraction. She shot a glance at the book sticking out of his bag. Even though she was ninety-five per-cent sure that Lord Voldemort had not attained the knowledge of Horcruxes from any book at Hogwarts, Hermione thought it was still worth a try to ask.

"So, Er…" she really didn't know how to tactfully word her question. "Er…so what else do you like to read?" she inquired surreptiously.

"Everything," he said curtly looking like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

She smiled astutely. "What, even romance novels?"

Tom slowly looked up at her and lifted an incredulous eyebrow

"I beg your pardon?"

Hermione shrugged ."You said you read everything so I _presumed_…"

"Well you _presumed_ incorrectly," he snapped coldly, looking thoroughly annoyed now.

"Ouch," she muttered, eyeing his indignant expression.

"Well, do _you_ like to read that pathetic, sickly excuse of a genre, yourself?" he demanded setting down the dusty volume.

"Nope," said Hermione, smirking. "Never could stomach that stuff myself…"

"And you thought I could?"

"Why not?"

He glowered at her. "Well," he said sarcastically. "Apart from the fact that I'm not _gay_—"

Hermione sniggered; Ron was going to be disappointed.

"—I find it a load of garbage, a waste of time and spurious. And that's just the Muggle ones."

"What could possibly be worse than Muggle romance literature?" she asked, raising a supercilious brow.

Tom's handsome face blanched as he looked carefully around them to ensure that no one was listening and muttered

"_Witch romances._"

Hermione snorted with laughter and he nodded gravely.

"They're the kinds of books that my old roommates Lavender and Parvarti would've liked," she said with a reminiscent smile. "But I don't really see the difference between the two—surely romance is pure magic from any author's point of view."

She looked at him and found that the corners of his lips were curved into an ironic smile. Up close, Hermione thought that his lips were classically attractive; masculine and elegant—yet the corners of his mouth looked slightly tight, as though he didn't really know how to smile.

"The difference," he said grimly, snapping her out of her reverie. "Is that Witchandry romance books often end in an aura."

"A what?"

"An Aura," he repeated, disgusted. "Apparently it's a mystical orb that forms around you and your one true love."

"How wishy-washy," scoffed Hermione. "At least they don't do anything more bizarre like levitate in the air," she laughed sourly and added, "and for someone who loathes romance books, you are _quite_ the expert."

He merely shrugged coolly. "You're forgetting the fact that I am well acquainted with Persia Parkinson."

"Merciful Merlin," muttered Hermione under her breath, picturing a dozen Lavenders and Parvarties swarming around Persia as she gave a review for something as sickly as _'Princess Witch'_ or _'The Love I've found in a Hag_". She looked round at Tom and found that he was staring at her scrupulously and quickly changed the subject.

"So, where've you been all day?" she asked curiously. "I haven't seen you in any classes today…one might imagine that you have been avoiding me."

Tom merely flicked is wand at the pile of books on the desk and they soared back to their correct shelves. Of course he had been avoiding Jane Granger all day—who wouldn't after failing to remove her memory while she was asleep? He almost felt a little ignominy for his hesitation, but it was nothing compared to the discomfort of sitting here in front of a girl whom he was supposed to erase all her memory and instead, converse with her as though they were friends.

He took his time deliberating a subtle response. "I wasn't feeling well enough to participate in today's lessons," he said quietly. "I've sent my apologies to the professors and they have kindly allowed me to finish my studies in my own time."

He looked at her closely and thought she was rather fighting for something to say. Her lips were pursed and her eyebrows were furrowed beneath her sweeping fringe. He tilted his head slightly "Is this the reason why you sought for me?"

"No," she said quickly. "I was wondering where you were because I wanted to know which day of the week we should hold our—_my_ first Prefect's meeting. Having arrived late into term, I haven't had the privilege of meeting them on a formal basis."

"But now that I _have_ managed to find you," she went on. "I have something to say."

"Something you haven't already said?" he asked sardonically. "I can't _possibly_ imagine."

He watched with some amusement as Jane's face turned haughty as she ignored his jibe.

"I wanted to say thank you, for starters," she said abruptly and he stared at her. "I mean, I know I can be really difficult sometimes…"

She suddenly blushed, but Tom merely gave her a look that plainly said, "_Go on…"_

"And I want to apologize for my irrational behaviour—it was very wrong for me to tell you what I knew about your past in such an obtrusive manner."

"Obtrusive," he drawled, "Is an understatement. Very well, you are forgiven."

Hermione chuckled. "There's no need for forgiveness," she said smartly. "I just think that I ought to apologize, you know, so you can see what a formal apology looks like."

He snapped out of his haughty composure. "And why," he said coldly, "would I need to see how an apology is done?"

She folded her arms and looked at him expectantly. "Well now that I've done my fair share, it's _your_ turn to apologize."

Hermione watched in satisfaction as Riddle's face took on indignancy. "I don't need to apologize to anyone!" he snapped, "Least of all not to _you._"

"You sound like my two year old cousin," she said haughtily. _"'I don't want to apologize—she's the one who'd in the wrong_' '_I want, I want_!'"

He returned a very icy stare. "And what if I refuse to apologize?" he said dangerously, moving his face mockingly close to her.

For a moment Hermione just gaped at him—taking in that alluring smell of forest pines from him. She then looked down, subconsciously closing her right hand, brushing her fingers against her palm, confusedly. A sense of déja vu intrigued her…

Tom looked down and noticed where she was looking. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable

"I have to go," he said abruptly and pushed out of his chair, ignoring her surprised and slightly crestfallen expression. "You organize the meeting," he added as he strode to the door and yanked it open.

Hermione watched glumly as he left at top speed. She sighed and rested her head on the table—he was so stubborn, she thought dismally, a simple apology was all he had to say…

She noticed a black leather bag lying at the foot of the desk—Tom Riddle's bag.

Hermione groaned, Great, now she had to return it to him—especially when he's already in a sour mood. She reached over the desk and yanked it from the ground, hard. Unfortunately, the amount of force she exerted on the leather satchel caused her to lose her balance and topple off her chair. The bag soared over her and all of the contents of his bag landed on her bushy brown head, including a number of ink pots that spilled it's contents, a fair few feathered quills—the latter stuck to the ink already on her hair, making Hermione appear like a grey chicken. Rolls of parchment slid neatly on her back but no such luck when it came to a heavy book that bounced off her feathery head.

She dizzily shook her head, trying to ward off the tiny bursts of stars emitting before her eyes and picked up the book in annoyance, ready to fling it across the room in a fit of rage but caught sight of the title.

"_Magicke Moste Effective to Cure __**Air Sickness**_?" she read aloud, staring at the leather bound book in shock. So he _wasn't_ reading a Dark Arts book after all…

Picking her self off the ground, Hermione stood up and turned—right into the chest of Tom Riddle.

"Stop doing that" she yelled in frustration, rubbing her nose.

He simply looked at her in a bemused way. "I, er, left my bag here…" he said, eyes traveling to her sodden, feather-plastered hair.

"And I see you've already become acquainted with my belongings?" he added accusingly.

"I tried to pick up your things to return to you," snapped Hermione, pulling out feathers from her black inked hair.

"Imagine that," he smirked, waving his wand to siphon off the ink on her hair in a rather condescending way.

Hermione glared at his smugness.

"Air Sickness, huh?" she said, rather impressively, looking pointedly at the book she was still holding. He dropped his arm and snatched the book back from her.

"It's for a friend," he snapped Summoning his bag and parchment. "Anyway, you owe me half a dozen of ink pots," he added giving her half-black, half brown hair another bemused look before turning to leave.

"Oh Riddle, I'm supposed to give you this!" called Hermione walking up to him and thrusting Slughorn's invitation. "Brings guests, if you wish." She paused for a moment before adding callously. "Don't know if anyone would be desperate enough to want to go with you, but Malfoy would be heartbroken if you didn't ask _him._"

With a smirk, she sailed past him and walked out of the library with her nose in the air oblivious to the many stares of equally amused students.

...

* * *

...

**There! Now how was that?**

**PLEASE Review!!**


	18. Chucking Tradition off the Broom

A/N:

_It has been literally ages since I've sat down on my laptop and gone through my old files, looking at TCR. I've really missed writing this way and I am extremely sorry to have left Fanfiction for so long! Thank you so much for your support all through the year. I can't help but love you guys for all of your support and wonderful comments. This year had become quite crazy with me with trying to juggle work, uni and moving as well as work-placement in the country. I will still continue what I have started (since I've spent quite a while daydreaming about completing this story in its entirety). Please be patient. It takes a lot of energy to finish a forty chapter story but I promise I will finish it! This chapter was kind of placed on hold because it is somewhat the key to the upcoming events and I wanted it to be as thorough as possible. I hope you can find it in your heart to comment on it. I feel so gratified when you leave me a comment! _

W.R

* * *

.

* * *

.

**Chapter 18:**

**Chucking Tradition off the Broom:**

.

* * *

.

* * *

"Jane Granger, for heaven's sake, _hold still!"_ commanded Phyllis Pemberly, tugging a blue hairbrush through Hermione's long, bushy hair which was still full of feathers. Except this was proven to be a petulantly tricky task, for the ink—_Tom Riddle's ink_ to be precise— had dried out resulting to the feathers being glued much more securely. The two girls were standing in the middle of the girls' lavatories in front an old, spotted mirror, lit by bright torches despite the amber setting sunlight streaming through the tall, arched stained windows casting a beautiful multi-coloured rainbow which danced against the ageing marbled floors and sinks.

"Ow!" howled Hermione as Phyllis jammed her hairbrush through her locks. "No, no—_that's it_— !" She darted away as her friend made another move towards her head.

Phyllis dropped her hands crossly and narrowed her hazel eyes.

"It's not that I'm _ungrateful_," said Hermione quickly, hating the whinny edge to her voice. "It's just that you know very well that I'd rather be on my way to do some Charms homework than getting my scalp ripped off."

"Jane," said Phyllis in a pacifying tone, so reminiscent of Hermione herself. "If you expect me to just waltz by you along the corridor and see that you've a dozen of feathers embezzled in your head and not do anything about it, then you have clearly mistaken me for someone else."

When Hermione made a sniffling noise, Phyllis laid a hand gently on her back. "They're nearly all gone!" she insisted, proceeding to her brushing.

Hermione blanched and looked in the mirror. Her face was all pink and watery from her tears of pain. Her nose was blotchy from her inky hands when she absently scratched it on the way out of the library. She still looked like a cross between a feather duster and a deranged turkey.

And she despised Tom Riddle.

"Blast me if I don't rip him to shreds of ham tonight," she muttered.

"Who?" asked Phyllis, curiously.

"_That condescending, self-absorbed, smug—!"_

"Ohh," said Phyllis nodding knowingly with a grin. "_Him_"

"Yes, that's right," fumed Hermione, crossing her arms glaring at her reflection. "The trouble is, he didn't even do anything bad to me."

Phyllis laughed.

"Then why do you hate him so much, Jane?" she said through giggles.

"I hate him, because…because…" Hermione paused, thinking furiously. Why _did_ she hate him? Was it because he'd killed his father, grandparents and Moaning Myrtle? Was it because he was to become the most diabolical wizard known to mankind? Was it because he would soon contrive to murder innocent lives, that including one of her best friends?

"It's because he is inclined to the Dark Arts," she murmured to herself. "He knows it's his future and he is willing to adhere its seduction. And there's nothing I can do to stop him." But that wasn't true, was it? Perhaps there _was_ something she could do. She just didn't know _what._

"Erm, did you say something Jane?" asked a puzzled Phyllis from behind her.

"No," sighed Hermione, shifting her weight to her other foot. "Just mumbling about…Prefect stuff..." she muttered.

"Oh that's right!" Phyllis exclaimed, slapping her forehead with such force that it knocked off her pointed hat. "We need to organize the first official meeting. When will that be?"

Hermione stared. "Er…" she mumbled something. She honestly hadn't given it a second thought since Riddle mentioned it to her in the library for what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Next week?" cried Phyllis in horror, pausing halfway to retrieve her hat. "No way! We must make it _this week_! Everyone will be gearing up for Quidditch, and you mark my words those idiots would never want to miss training for Halloween preparation."

"But today's already Friday," Hermione reminded, drumming her fingers absently against the mirror.

"Then we'll make it today!" declared Phyllis. "I _know _for a fact that none of the other Prefects are engaged to Charms Club, Quidditch, Transfiguration Tea, although Persia might be busy staring at herself in the mirror all night, the vain git."

"That's exactly what _we're_ doing."

"This is different," she said dismissively. "I'm trying to rip your scalp off, as you kindly mentioned. In which case…" She gave a final tug and Hermione winced as she saw the last few feathers fall to the ground, along with some of her hair.

"There we are," beamed Phyllis, patting Hermione's now featherless hair. "See? It's not so bad once we've rid the ink."

"I think I'm going to need some Rogaine after this," murmured Hermione, turning around to see the back of her head, praying there would be no visible bald patches.

"What's that?" said Phyllis absently, pulling off hair from her brush. "Anyway, you get Riddle and I'll tell the others that we'll be holding an official meeting tonight at—"

"—eight-thirty," finished Hermione, nodding, "That'll give me enough time to…" she broke off, almost saying, _"That'll give me enough time to stalk Tom Riddle and contribute in foiling his evil plans, provided that he has any to begin with"._

"Sure, sure," chirped Phyllis, running the brush through her own glossy chestnut locks before proceeding to leave.

At the door, she hesitated before asking. "Um, you _are_ going to inform Riddle, aren't you?"

Hermione grinned wickedly. "Phyllis, I'd be absurdly _irresponsible_ if I didn't. Although in the space of two hours, something might cause me to _forget_ …"

.

"Hermione!" yelled a voice that scared her out of her skin the moment she was earshot away from Phyllis.

Hermione threw her hands up at the sight of Ron and Harry as they skirted towards her.

"Didn't I _tell_ you not to call me by my real name around here?" she said, exasperated.

Ron turned to Harry. "Did she?"

The black-haired boy shook his head and they both shrugged.

"Fine," grumbled Hermione peevishly. "What's going on?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked," beamed Ron as he and Harry took her by either arm and led her to the nearest vacant classroom.

Harry closed the door shut before casting the muffling spell on the door.

"Okay, Ron, show her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "For goodness sake, Ron I've seen your precious crown of jewels, and may I concede that there was very little to be impressed…"

Ron looked very affronted. "But it was _cold_ then! You know when a bloke gets cold he shrivels and—"

"Ron!" yelped Harry. "That's gross, did you just leap out at her and pull your daks down?"

Hermione sniggered as Ron turned bright red.

"She walked in on me when I was outside using the chamber-pot," he muttered. Referring to the time when Hermione decided to sneak outside of the Burrow to use the bathroom where she discovered Ron relieving himself in a tiny ceramic bowl.

"It looked more like a watering can than a chamber-pot," she mused as Harry snickered.

"Not funny!" yelled Ron, sounding angry.

"Okay, yeah, I think I've made my mark," chortled Hermione. "Although you clearly didn't when you accidentally sprayed me when you turned—"

"Harry help me!" moaned Ron in anguish, but his other best friend was also beside himself with laughter.

"Ron, you're such an easy target," wheezed Hermione, holding her knees for support. "Sorry. Please, do carry on."

Ron gave her a very black look before talking out from his pocket—

"A book?" said Hermione suspiciously, eyeing it's tattered ebony leather and faded gold letters. "Ron what is it?"

"This," said Ron triumphantly."Is _exactly_ what we've been looking for."

"We don't know what the title is exactly," admitted Harry, "but it's a book that's completely dedicated to—"

"—_Horcruxes!" _whispered Hermione in awe. "Oh Harry! Where on earth did you find this?"

"Funny you should ask," he replied, giving Ron a dark look.

"I was chasing Harry along the corridor because he told me what Ginny tried to give him as a birthday present," grumbled Ron.

Hermione stared. "What—_ohh_..." She tried to keep a straight face. "So I guess you didn't like that?" She could only remember too well of Ron's over-protectiveness and jealousy over the years.

Ron ignored her. "Well, it wouldn't've been so bad if he didn't start singing whatever the hell he was singing"

Hermione looked questioningly at Harry and he smirked, "_Sexual Healing"._

She burst out laughing. In her mind's eye she could imagine Harry tearing across the corridor goading Ron who was in blind rage and at his heels and throwing cupcakes by singing, "_Oh when I get that feeling, I want, sexual healing…"_

Before Hermione realized, she was singing it in a high-pitched voice as well.

"It's catchy though!" she protested, catching Ron's mutinous expression.

Harry cleared his throat, anxious that Ron might have an epileptic fit any time soon.

"Er, anyway," he continued pointedly. "We were halfway along the seventh-floor corridor, when I'd decided that Won-Won wasn't going to run out of ammo."

"So you found the..." breathed Hermione, her eyes widening into saucers.

"Yep!" beamed Ron "The Room—"

"Yes, yes, we know what it's called," said Hermione, waving her hand impatiently, causing him to scowl. Ignoring this she went on in awe. "And so Harry asked for a place where Ron couldn't find him?"

"Well actually," said Harry embarrassed. "I asked for the place where things could be hidden, you know how big that place is."

"Yeah so I could keep chasing him," said Ron, rolling his eyes.

Hermione tutted, in her mind's eye she could imagine Harry laughing wildly as he took off in the vast, cathedral-sized room, darting around piles of hidden junk while Ron threw them at him.

"Mature," she muttered. "Real mature. Then what happened?"

Ron grinned. "Well, I picked up some book and threw it at his head."

"It was a good shot," admitted Harry, rubbing the side of his head where it evidently struck. "I literally soared about ten feet before skidding for fifteen."

"Yes, yes," said Hermione anxiously. "And the book?"

"Yeah then Harry picked it up to throw it back at me—and I caught it," said Ron, miming it to her. "Then a few pages fell out."

"And it said Horcruxes!" yelled Harry happily "Horcux—"

Hermione jammed her sleeve into his mouth. "Harry, shut up!" she hissed, looking around frantically. "I thought I heard someone outside!"

"Uggh gr mmm rmmh" mumbled Harry feebly.

"What?"

"I cast _Muffliato_, remember?"

"Oh," said Hermione. She made a rather silly attempt to brush his shoulders apologetically.

He looked at the book in her trembling hands and opened the cover, examining the yellowed pages. She quickly skimmed the pages until her eyes fell on a symbol.

"What is this?" she murmured, holding it close to the light to examine it.

The symbol in the book looked Celtic, with four interlocking arcs, entwined by what looked to be an ornate cirlcle with an adjoining stem and an eye in the very center. Hermione could not help but shiver at it.

"That eye kinda gives me the creeps," commented Harry, peering over her shoulder.

Hermione nodded; the illustrated eye looked so contrived that it seemed to be following them. The thought was rather unsettling.

"Do you think this is what Riddle's after?" she asked in a strained voice. But before any of them could reply, the book started to shimmer, and before they could react, it slowly evaporated into thin air.

"Did that book just _Dissapparate?_" yelped Ron, jumping about a foot and accidentally toppling over three chairs.

Hermione gasped and backed into a table. "Oh my—"she breathed.

"_Noooooooooooooo!!"_ moaned Harry, falling to his knees with his hands outstretched, looking like a character from a very melodramatic film.

"It didn't just Disapparate," said Hermione slowly. Both boys stopped what they were doing and gaped at her.

She turned to them and stared back.

"Someone's calling it back."

.

Two hours later….

Hermione was waiting anxiously at the door of her common room with Ron and Harry at her side waiting for the other Prefects to arrive for their first official meeting.

Harry and Ron had insisted on accompanying her for a morale boost since they had nothing to do for the night, anyway. But everyone else was growing late for none had actually shown up, making all three of them feel restless.

"It was never _this_ formal in our day," muttered Ron, picking at the gold and crimson wallpaper.

"Wonderful ending to a terrific day," muttered Hermione, still keeping her mind on the mystery of the missing Horcrux book. And the eerie symbol on one of the pages.

Harry was busy and didn't reply. He was trying to leap from bookcase to bookcase like a frog, swinging on the tapestries.

"Harry, will you cease to be a nuisance and get down from up there!" hissed Hermione in despair as Harry accidentally slipped on a silk hanging and banged into a shelf, knocking over scores of leather-bound books.

"This is how I deal with nerves these days," he said indignantly.

Hermione sighed she was about to open her mouth to tell him off when—

_Bang!_

The door swung open and there stood seven prattling Prefects roaring their apologies and holding plates of snacks and Butterbeer, while patting Hermione and Ron in chummy greeting as they passed.

Before she knew it, they were settled on the floor in front of the fire chatting happily as they tucked into scrumptious pasties, crisps and sweets.

Alphard Black let off a miniature firecracker and whooped as flew around the room, nearly knocking Persia Parkinson off her feet who had just arrived at the door, wearing a stunning pink silk robes and a sour expression as she brushed off soot on her pretty face.

Jacob Casby went bright red and offered his arm for which she lazily took with a batting of her long lashes.

Up till now, Hermione had learnt the names of the other Prefects: Bernard Bennington, a tall, sandy-haired chap with a pointy nose and Madeline Thompson, a bright-eyed brunette with a friendly grin were from Hufflepuff. Raymond Twyford (who insisted on being called merely Twyford), a chocolate-haired boy with horn-rimmed spectacles and Violetta Shaw, a pink-cheeked, pale-skinned milling girl, who wore a blue ribbon in her dark curls. Persia Parkinson and Alphard Black were Slytherin Prefects (Alphard. Hermione thought looked rather smashingly good-looking in well-cut suit of black with a silk tie). And Jacob Casby and Phyllis Pemberly were, of course, in Gryffindor. (Phyllis adorned a pretty yellow dress that gave off the red accents of her hair, even though she accidentally spilled ketchup on her skirt when she was wrestling Ron for the bottle and won). While they were happily in each others company, bathed in the warm light of the fireplace and laughing raucously, rain began to pound noisily against the windows in the gathering darkness outside.

"Okay," said Hermione finally, checking her watch. "Now that we've all settled down everyone in here—"

"—what about Riddle?" asked Persia, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against the thick rug and narrowing her ice-blue eyes.

"He, uh," stammered Hermione while everyone stared. "He—"

"—was sick," said Phyllis quickly, saving her skin. "No-one's seen him today have they?" Se looked around at the other Prefects. Alphard gave Phyllis a wink and Hermione thought she saw her turn pink.

To be truthful, Hermione did not _not _expect that the others wouldn't notice the Head Boy of the school being mysteriously disappearing—she had no grounds to think that they were stupid—but she'd _hoped_ that no one would actually bring it up so brashly.

Alphard cleared his throat and grinned. "Well let's do this thingy right then and get it over and done with, shall we?"

"You mean our meeting?" asked Phyllis, frowning.

"Yes," said Hermione, grateful for the change in topic. "Right. Er—"

She had forgotten what they were there for all of a sudden.

"Halloween Feast," muttered Harry in an undertone, pretending to drink an empty bottle of Butterbeer.

"Oh yes," said Hermione, going red. "Um, well I don't really see the point in trying to opt for a new and hip recreation of the feast. Perhaps we should simply stick to the traditional feast style with the usual—"

"Bats," said Madeline grimacing.

"Pumpkins," added Violetta in a hollow voice.

"Candy!" shouted Ron. Everyone stared and laughed.

"Wait, what's wrong?" asked Hermione holding up a hand to halt the laughter, looking concerned with the obviously less-than-pleased girls.

"Oh no," said Twyford blanching, "never mind, it's fine."

The male in attendance all mumbled their embarrassment.

"_What?"_ said Hermione looking around alarmed. "What is it?"

"Jane, it's just," Violetta sighed, putting down her plate of cakes. "It's just we've had the Halloween Feast year after year"

"Century after century," added Madeline gloomily.

"And, well," Violetta looked at Phyllis in a knowing way.

"Here goes," Hermione heard Jacob mutter to Bernard in a pained voice.

"It's just we want a change for once!" burst out Persia.

This met many nods of agreement from the girls. Alphard nervously pulled on his collar.

"Okay," said Hermione calmly assessing the situation; clearly the girls were upset and the boys were embarrassed. She rather believed that it would only be to give their ideas a fair hearing so she nodded encouragingly. "So do what do you have in mind Persia?" she asked in what she hoped to be an encouraging tone.

"We want a dance," replied Persia boldly. "It's not fair that we should go through seven years of schooling without attending one."

"But you went to Malfoy's Ball last Christmas," Alphard reminded in an exasperated voice. "With _me,_ remember?"

"Let me re-iterate that for you then," she said, looking at him coolly, "this school has never hosted a ball since the last two centuries and I, for one am for a change!"

"Yeah I agree with you, I suppose," shrugged Twyford, obviously trying to look as if he had just been convinced, though Hermione wasn't fooled. His face shone like a beacon at the notion rather shamelessly.

"Same blasted thing every year," mumbled Bernard.

"Dance would be a good place to meet girls," added Alphard with a shadow of his mischievous grin.

"Jane," said Phyllis, looking appealingly at Hermione. "It's really up to you if you want a change, since you are one of the Heads. We're willing to stick by your decision…"

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron for quick consultation and both of them nodded encouragingly. _Mmmm, a dance?_ She thought…a dance might be just the thing for the diversion she needed to search through Riddle's things for clues…

Clearly Harry thought the exact same thing judging by the gleam in his eyes.

But the amount of trouble, not to mention the amount of persuasion she was going to have to do to convince Professor Dippet, not to mention the other members of staff and the scandal that might be caused if it were to be mentioned in the Daily Prophet. But, this idea had clearly been in the Prefects minds for quite some time…

"Jane," pleaded Violetta. "We've been asking for years and the professors wouldn't allow it. Look," she sighed, "my family are Muggles and I am always sick with envy that my cousins have Leaver's Balls and dances while I can't."

"We just want a change since it's our turn to be Hogwarts leaders," said Bernard grimly.

Hermione frowned deeply. "What kind of dance are we talking about here?" she asked slowly, trying to weigh the pros and cons in her ever pragmatic mind.

"Just a little ball," said Madeline enthusiastically. "In the Hall."

"With decorations," nodded Phyllis eagerly.

"It won't fit the entire school," said Hermione grimly, shifting in her cushion.

"But there's a Halloween Festival in the village that night!" beamed Alphard, clasping his hands together. "All the littlies can go there while the senior part of Hogwarts can enjoy a night of dancing and Butterbeer."

A slow smile curled on Hermione's lips. How adorable they all were.

"That," she said trying to still sound serious, "could work."

Everyone cheered and Ron let off some firecrackers.

"I'm not saying it's going to _easy,_" she added quickly as Bernard hugged her. "It's going to be incredibly difficult to organize everything, but I could see the benefit for this change."

But everyone was in complete ecstasy.

"Yay!" cheered Alphard, shaking a bottle of Butterbeer and spraying everyone. "Finally chucking tradition off the broom!"

For the next fifteen minutes everyone was sitting around, shouting gleefully in the Common Room, stuffing food in their yelling mouths and laughing raucously.

"Severus," called Violetta over the noise. "Care for some pate?"

"Sorry?" said Ron dubiously, looking at the pinkish slop.

"It's French," muttered Hermione, hiding a grin. "It's very nice."

Ron shrugged and spooned a massive lump with his crisps. When he popped it into his mouth he nodded and grinned and went for more.

About three minutes later he was still shoveling copious amounts of the slop blissfully but no-one wanted to stop him. Finally, only one person took pity of his ignorance.

"Oy Sev!" said Alphard, who was juggling Butterbeer bottles to entertain the lot, "do you even _know_ what that stuff's made out of?"

Ron slowed down his chewing and stared blankly at him.

"Um, mince and ham?" he asked.

Hermione felt a bubble of mirth rising. She covered her mouth with the nearest gourmet delicacy Jacob had brought. It tasted quite strange, but she just kept eating. It was that or laugh out loud.

"Er, try guts and spleen of Doxies," said Alphard nervously. "These _are_ a delicacy—".

"_WHAT?!"_

Ron's face went purple as he gagged. Then retched. The Prefects and Harry lurched away just in time as Ron's airborne vomit flew across the common room.

"EEEEK!" shrieked Persia who was too late. Ron's sick spattered on her entire body as well as putting out the fire behind her.

"My new robes! _I'll kill you_."

"Oh Merlins above," moaned Alphard, grabbing his face in remorse at the damage he had caused.

Persia swore viciously and stalked out of the common room, cursing Ron and something about her father under her breath.

"Um," said Hermione, waving her wand Vanishing the vomit from the floor. She forced her eyes to meet Ron's, trying—and failing to hide her guilty expression.

Ron's eyes narrowed to slits.

"I say Jane!" exclaimed Bernard delightedly. "Did you just sample some of _Matelote D'anguille?_"

Hermione learned a bit of French when she was holidayed with her parents, however her knowledge did not extend far from pate and bouillabaisse.

"I beg your pardon?" She swallowed. The finger-food was beginning to churn in her stomach. Now she was starting to become quite suspicious at why no-one else sampled the plate she'd been eating out of.

"Ooh," Madeline sucked in her breath in a sympathetic sort of way. "I thought so".

This did not reassure Hermione one bit.

"What is it?" she croaked, feeling something wobbled in the upper region of her stomach.

Alphard gave Bernard an apprehensive look. "Should we tell her?"

"WHAT DID I EAT?"

Bernard turned a tortured face.

"You just ate half a platter of eel rolls."

"Eels!" shrieked Hermione. Harry and Ron sniggered. _The traitors_, she seethed, feeling very queasy all of a sudden.

Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth, trying with all her might no to throw up. She made a few retching noises that sounded rather like gulps with her lips tightly shut while everyone watched in apprehension.

Unable to hold on for much longer she suddenly leapt off the ground and hurried over to Patrick the fern and vomited all of the contents in her stomach into his muddy plant pot.

Hermione steadied herself with both hands on either side of the clay pot and took in deep breaths, squeezing her teary eyes tightly shut.

"Poor Patrick," said Ron in a tiny muffled voice.

Hermione slowly turned her head to look at that wretched red-haired num-nut and glared heavily.

"_Poor Patrick?"_ she repeated icily "you're lucky that I didn't vent my gut on you, Snape!"

"Oh, Jane, you've got puke on your hair," said Bernard guiltily, still holding the plate of eel rolls.

"Err, I think she's got more to worry about than her hair," said Alphard carefully, looking pointedly at her robes.

Hermione groaned as she looked down at the muck and fertilizer stuck on her front.

"Now I smell like _you!_" she wailed, pointing at Ron. Everyone laughed good-naturedly, glad that the awkwardness was gone.

The lights above them suddenly flicked off without warning and a collective gasp from the Prefects filled the Head Common room.

Suddenly the portrait door swung open with an almighty bang that shook the entire vicinity followed by the towering, black silhouette of Tom Marvollo Riddle.

"Yeeeaaahhh!!" screamed Madeline, losing control.

Hermione immediately imagined an organ theme of a horror movie.

A bolt of lightning flashed and it illuminated the pitch black common room so that she could just make out the livid expression upon Riddle's face.

"Jane!" shrieked Ron, also losing complete control. "Run for your life!!"

"Oh merciful Merlin!" huffed Hermione, rolling her eyes as she flicked her wand calmly, instantly filling the room with bright light by conjuring up her special bluebell flames and be-ridding the sick completely off her with another airy wave, when in actual fact her heart was drumming madly inside; half with apprehension but more so with guilt…

When she saw Riddle again he was standing with his arms tightly at his sides, staring daggers down at her.

"I want a word with you, Granger," he bit off, eyes cold as chips of ice. "_Now_."

Hermione crossed her arms and glowered, refusing to let him frighten her. She figured that after the eels, nothing else could scare her tonight

"We were just discussing something rather important," she said boldly.

"Yes, I surmised as much," he said, arching his brows acerbically. "And it pains me to take that privilege away from your person upon my arrival."

"Your marvelous presence will not be a means to end tonight's meeting," she returned through gritted teeth.

"Oh a _meeting_?" said Tom, raising both brows in mock surprise, forgetting for a moment that he was playing disdainful. "You call _this_—" He waved a long-fingered hand at the group at large who were spectators to their verbal match, "A meeting?"

Without bothering to let her reply he cut in.

"Alright, if this is indeed a meeting, then judging by the looks of these boors, not to mention the demolishment of the common room, I'd say you have long since concluded it. Tell me—" His lips twisted ironically. "What have you achieved thus far?"

He watched in satisfaction as Jane Granger's face contorted in outrage. He was fairly certain that she would say that they had organized the Halloween Feast, a pathetic task that an eight-year old could probably do in his sleep. This would certainly embarrass her as punishment for her rudeness not to tell him that there was to be an official meeting. Blast it, he was the _Head Boy_. Surely that must warrant some degree of respect, even if his colleague was a silly chit who tried to foil his control over himself and others.

And Tom Riddle was a man who did _not_ like to be foiled.

He arched his brows and waited for her response.

To his utter shock she grinned.

_Beamed, _actually.

"Since you asked so nicely," Jane said in a sickly innocent voice. "The other Heads of the school have proposed an intriguing new idea for Halloween. One which I find remarkably _refreshing_."

"Is that so?" he managed to grind out.

"Oh yes," she said sweetly. "You see, they've decided to break the ties of annual tradition and host separate parties for Hogwarts."

Tom felt his entire body go coldly rigid.

"And what did you say?" he gritted.

Jane's grin grew wider.

"I told them it was a brilliant idea and accepted their proposal!"

Hermione smirked as she watched the muscles of his jaw twitch. Other than that his face remained quite passive, though his eyes grew even more glacial than ever.

Everyone gasped delightedly, looking around at each other in sheer ecstasy.

"I want to talk to you, Granger," he bit off. "In private. Now."

He looked so deadly that Hermione thought she had gone too far. This man was capable of murder, after all.

"Where?" she muttered, ignoring Harry who cleared his throat loudly.

"Upstairs."

She had no other option than to follow him up the stairs to his room.

_His room?_

Tom Riddle turned the brass doorknob and opened his door wide, then turned to her silently and pointed into it indicating for her to enter.

Hermione had no other choice than to walk in, passing him with narrowed eyes.

...

Hermione drew in a deep breath and stole a look around the magnificent interior of his room. A vast canopy bed was garnished in green and silver silk covers stood in the center, while a comfortable chintz rested on its left in front of what she considered to be a miniature library. It was very dark inside his room and the master had not bothered to light a candle. Since the momentary storm has since passed, the only source of light was from the silvery moon against the deep blue skies cloaked with a thousand stars, giving the room an ethereal blue glow.

In any other circumstance, Hermione would have regarded this situation to be rather romantic. But in her case, she thought, glancing frugally at Tom Riddle's cold expression, it was anything but.

He was standing against the closed door with his arms folded, looking every bit like a debonair prince, assessing her coolly.

There was a moment of silence before he said icily. "Care to enlighten me?"

Hermione bristled at his tone. "I don't think there is anything to explain," she snapped. "I simply did my job and they simply did theirs. There is _nothing_ more to say—"

"Except that you've decided to extinguish tradition that has been implemented in this school for centuries," he finished.

"Look here," she snapped, feeling more irritated by the second. "It is not my fault that the students of this school feel that we ought to have a change for once, and as a Head prefect, I feel that it is my duty and privilege to uphold their wishes!"

"Have you given a thought to what the _rest_ of the school might think? Who may or may not approve of a social function so reminiscent of Muggle frivolities? What the Professors and school boards might say to this?" He tilted his head in a deceptively friendly way. "What _I _might say to this?"

Narrowing her eyes and stretching herself to her full height, she stared straight into those cool grey eyes.  
"Yes, I have given a great depth of thought to what the rest of the Hogwarts school community might say, as well as what the rest of the magical community might think. However, my opinion remains; this is a good opportunity for everyone to have a decent time and I will not budge—even if it means," she paused and ground out. "Holding a function that is _so reminiscent of Muggle frivolities._"

"That was a very pretty little speech," Riddle smirked. "But the last time I checked, it takes two Head prefects' consent for any event to proceed. And since we have both established that I will not yield to such a joke, your opinion therefore does not signify."

"It is _not_ frivolity," said Hermione angrily, balling her fists. "And my opinion does signify. More so than yours, I imagine."

"Is that so?" he drawled, lifting up a long-fingered hand and inspecting his well-manicured fingernails.

Hermione shot him a furious glare. How dare he belittle her? Treating her as though she were a three-year-old and not his equal! Fuming, she stormed across the room to his open window to put as much distance in between them as possible before realization finally hit her. She spun abruptly on her heel to face him.

"I fail to see what the problem is," she said finally. "Except that you are placing yourself as the victim, simply because I did not inform you, _my lord_."  
There, that was it. It was now entirely obvious why he was furious. Tom Riddle, Mr. Dark Lord believes that it his right to know exactly everything that goes on within his beloved school. He feels that it is his right to be in charge—no, to _dominate_ the school and everyone in its wake.

Something unpleasant flickered in Riddle's eyes at the mention of his self-given dark title and Hermione knew she had hit her mark.

"That's right," he hissed, moving away from the door. "You waltz into this school from Merlin knows where with a team of your idiotic friends, get appointed the position that _I_ myself had spent my entire school life striving for and already two weeks in you are running everything as though you own the place."

"Really, Riddle," drawled Hermione, imitating him by inspecting her own fingernails disdainfully. "Jealousy does not become you."

An expression of fury crossed his features. For a moment Hermione thought she _knew_ she had pushed him too far. And then, to her utter amazement, his lips arranged itself to a devious smile.

"No," he agreed softly. "It does not". Before she realized, he had crossed the room to where she was standing and was merely inches in front of her.

Hermione tried to wriggle away.

"Oh no, don't go away so soon," he murmured, with an ironic twist to his lips. "I think your presence is beginning to rather grow on me."

"Well I find yours repugnant," she retorted, giving him a steely gaze and found that it was a big mistake. His eyes were glowing an intense blue from the light filtered through the windows behind her. Hermione was unwillingly mesmerized by them.

He took a step closer to her, so that she would be forced against the window and she felt her breath being robbed from her lungs.

"You know," he said softly, reaching out a hand and touching a lock of her hair. "I don't know why I've been so foolish enough not to see this sooner..."

"What—"

His lips curved.

"The pseudo conversations, the sneaking around corridors and our "coincidental" meeting two nights ago…"

Hermione felt her blood turn to ice…did he know? Did he suspect?

"I don't know what you're talking about," she managed to choke, despite her knees turning into water.

His smirk grew smouldering as he leaned closer to her.

"The competitiveness and the unauthorized meeting tonight?"

Hermione almost sagged with relief but then she tensed when she realized that Tom Riddle had her cornered in his bedroom. She felt his body heat seep through into her clothing. She gave an involuntary shiver which made her face burn. Hermione now understood what Ron had meant by feeling Tom Riddle's power radiating off him.  
She could hardly breathe.

"Do you know what I think, Jane?" he continued, almost lazily, leaning in so close that Hermione's lips parted in shock.

His face brushed close to her ears as though he were telling her a devious secret.

"I think you want to dominate me," he whispered.

Tom watched in satisfaction as he felt Jane stiffen. He had wanted to be near enough to intimidate her, to scare her even into submission. He doubted any man had ever been this indecently close to a creature so irritatingly opinionated, stubborn and sharp-tongued.

And yet…

And yet he found himself being irrevocably drawn to her lips. Tom was suddenly overwhelmed by a terrible desire to taste her, to devour her amidst his frustration. He couldn't stop himself. Those luscious full red lips, her maddening scent of roses and honeysuckle…he leaned into her, about to capture those lips that had been haunting him in his dreams…

"You're wrong," he heard her say softly.

"Is that so?" Tom felt himself stop. Suddenly, his lust for her vanished when he saw the expression on her face.

He leaned back to take a better look at Jane's face. Her lips were pressed together in a grim line and her eyes held a shuttered gleam in them.

Suddenly, Tom felt his anger fade, replaced by utter curiosity. He just stared at her.

"I'm just trying to appease the school," Jane said slowly in her soft voice. "I'm not trying to invade it and dictate everything."

She looked into his eyes grimly.

"My apologies," she said tersely, eyes still glinting in that odd manner. "I should have confided in you with my decisions."

Tom felt slightly taken take at her abruptness. This was from the woman who was spitting fire at him five minutes ago.

"But," she continued. There was a 'but'? He stared at her.

"But," she nodded, a small smile unfurling the edges of her full red lips. "That doesn't mean that I'm going to give in. I still want this dance to happen and there's nothing you can possibly to convince me otherwise."

Tom smirked and leaned in so close that she let out a tiny gasp. He moved his lips close to hers, so close that she could practically feel them brushing against his.

"Are you quite sure about that, Miss Granger?" he murmured, marveling how her mouth had parted instinctively and he sensed that she was eager to let him possess her even if she didn't realize.

Her hands slid up to his arms and rested on her slender waist. He heard her utter a confused little sound.

Feeling exultant, his lips swooped to meet hers.

With a smirk, he stopped when they were just an inch away and pulled himself completely away from her triumphantly.

Tom thought he saw her shiver as though the sudden gap between them left her cold.

He allowed himself a smug grin as he saw her eyes snap open in surprise and confusion as she stared around.

"What—?"

Suddenly anger took over her lovely features. Tom realized in an instant that she was furious with herself for allowing him to control her as thus.

"You—" she stammered, pointing at him, her eyes growing wide in shock.

"Yes?" His tone was pure smugness.

Her eyes narrowed at him dangerously.

"You tried to seduce me into letting you get your way!" she fairly yelled.

Tom thumbed his chin nonchalantly, pretending to look thoughtful.

"Yes, I suppose I did."

"You," she spat, her hands balled into tight little fists. "Are despicable"

With her head held high she brushed past him angrily to the door and opened it.

With her hand on still the door knob, she suddenly stopped and said in a low, icy voice. "Had you managed to kiss me, you would never have succeeded in making me your conquest."

"I doubt that," he replied with a shrug.

"This dance is going to happen," she hissed. "Whether you like it or not."

"On whose authority will that be?" he drawled.

"You're forgetting something, Riddle," she said, her voice pure venom. "This school requires a spot of good publicity as pertains to a student murder two years ago—"

He felt his blood run cold. _No, she couldn't be thinking_…

"And if you value your school as you seem to believe, then you will cease playing your games with me and yield, given _you_ are the cause of this predicament in the first place!"

With that, she slammed the door behind her, leaving Tom quite alone in the gathering darkness lost in deep thought.

.

* * *


	19. The Slugfest

**Author's note:**

**Two words: Holy Hell!**

**That's the only thing I can say after finishing this chapter. I have the worst luck with notebooks and computers that always freezes or don't respond. Gosh, this particular chapter was a particularly long one, and I've decided to call it 'The Slugfest', a simple and snappy title in contrast to its content. A great big thankyou to all of my loyal readers who haven't given up believing that I would eventually update and reviewing my story! You are the reason why I do this :D. I hope you enjoy 'The Slugfest' as much as I did writing it. And don't forget to review!! Also, I'd just like to thank Tara and Andrew for their endless support and patience for lending me their macbooks so I could complete this, as well as my case studies which could be bloody annoying when I've left them until a week before the deadline...Cheers, WinterRavenHall.**

* * *

.

* * *

.

**Chapter 20**

**The Slugfest...**

.

* * *

By the time they entered third week into October, the Seventh years were given such a vast amount of homework it kept nearly every student up past the unhealthy hour of three in the morning almost every night.

"You do realize," said Twyfordshire peering sternly over the top of his spectacles. "That you are nearing the end of your education? Your NEWTs will determine the course of your future—which might I remind you will be taking place in a matter of _a few months?"_

"Rotten old man, that's what he is," said Harry bitterly, slumping over his desk. "I mean, its rubbish to have to do Seventh year here; _we're not even in the right era!"_

Slughorn's party soon came into view, and much of the student population—particularly of the gossiping girls variety, were interested in who the new Head Girl was bringing to the party.

"It's ridiculous," said Hermione sniffily. "As if they haven't anything better to worry about!"

She was bent over a piece of parchment, scribbling as fast as she can while wilfully ignoring the protests beside her desk in the empty Astronomy classroom before class began.

"Pretty please, Hermy-wormy?" she heard Ron wheedle. "Just this once—?"

Hermione slowly looked up at him from her parchment, from which she was quilling down as many arguments as she could for the dance the other Prefects where yearning for on Halloween night. For an entire week, she had been pestering the weedy, aging Headmaster Dippet to allow this change of tradition, but all he would say was "I'll have to put my quizzing cap on and think about it, Miss Granger," with an mild smile.  
This had no soothing effect upon her whatsoever since Hermione was quite sure that he was simply humoring her, quizzing hat be damned!

This also didn't help with the Prefects coming from behind a corner and looking at her in similar commiserating and disappointed expressions once she had informed them that Dippet had once again said he 'forgot his quizzing cap' again.

But what annoyed her most was the fact that Tom Riddle, who was meant to be her partner, therefore should be cajoling alongside them, simply ignored her attempts and simply cast her a semi-amused eye whenever he saw her. However, Hermione was secretly thankful that he hadn't mentioned his endeavor to kiss her in his vast bed-chamber on the night of the first Prefects meeting.  
Oddly enough, he hadn't mentioned anything to her at all, since they have been avoiding conversation all week.

Perhaps it was not so strange, she thought with a grim smile. Every time they happened to pass one another, Hermione would either throw him a deep, challenging glare or walk past him in frosty disdain, which was far less than he deserved given his behavior on Friday. Any sign of acknowledgement, no matter how fraught with smoldering silence, was a small reminder of what she thought of him and his _schemes_ to bend her to his wills.

But every time Hermione thought about their encounter, she felt a blush creeping to her cheeks and a whirlpool of confusing sensations fluttering and swirling around the region of her lower stomach. It was a shame she had managed to get rid of the vomit from her robes before he led her up to his room, she reflected dryly, otherwise he might not have wanted to lean in close enough so that she could feel the heat off his body as his sultry heavy-lidded gaze rested upon her, his hot breath and lips almost touching…

_Don't think about that!_ Hermione's head screeched in mortification, forcing her to wrench away the vivid memory that kept replaying over and over again in her mind. _If you want to keep your wits around Riddle then you are certainly not going to fall deft to thoughts surrounding him and what almost happened in his room! _

Almost?! Her conscience scorned, Look what it's done to you. It's making you blush like a ninny every time you _think _about him. This is Lord bloody _Voldemort_, for heaven's sake! The notion is almost treacherous.

Hermione suddenly allowed herself a tiny satisfied smirk at the memory of their Wednesday Potions lesson where she accidentally tripped over Harry's knees and her spotted toad went flying into Riddle's potion, causing it to explode. Unfortunately, while everyone was drenched in awful-smelling toad innards and was furious, he remained perfectly nonchalant, enough to even cast a powerful vanishing charm that cleansed the entire dungeons into a sparkling glaze, thus enabling him a bonus fifty points to Slytherin. Blast the man.

"_Hermione? _Earth to Hermione!"  
Hermione abruptly snapped from her reverie and cast her well practiced steely-gaze at Harry and Ron who were still looking pleadingly at her.

"Go on, Hermione, please?" Ron clasped his hands together and begged.

"_Never."_

"But you used to lend us your notes loads of times," Harry cajoled next to Ron, looking most earnest.

Hermione frowned. "It's your own fault for forgetting to complete your own homework, so don't expect me to let you copy mine."

"But it's _Astronomy,_" groaned Ron, wringing his hair in exasperation. "Like that's going to be any use to us, unless we wanted to become Moonologists, or something," he muttered.

"Or centaurs?" suggested Percivas with a loopy grin. "Though I can't imagine my future grandson sprouting more legs and walking around naked."

"Percivas!" exclaimed Hermione. Leaning in she whispered "You have got to stop referring to Ron as your future grandson, people might hear!" She glanced around frantically as if to demonstrate her point.

"No-one's about, lovey," said Dean Potter soothingly. "Besides, a stark nude Ron will probably blind the entire castle."

Everyone muttered their agreement, including Ron.

By the time more students began filling the dark-wood paneled classroom and Harry gave Hermione a look of pure torture.  
"Hermione, I'm begging you," he whispered urgently, tugging on her sleeve. "It's Quidditch tonight and if we get a detention, we won't be able to practice! So no more dive-bombing Malfoy, or stealing his clothes and hiding them—"

"Or helping you spy on Riddle?" suggested Ron, hopefully.

Hermione made a growling, exasperated noise and shoved her beautifully composed essays in their general direction just as Tom Riddle and his group of friends entered the room.

Hermione accidentally let a gulp of surprise and quickly returned to her open book lying on the desk, trying to recompose herself. _Don't look at him, don't give him that satisfaction_, she chanted inside. Much to her credit, Hermione didn't.

Harry gave a tiny cheering noise beside her and began making copies of the homework for himself, Ron, Dean and Percivas, despite earning himself venomous glares from her.

"Last time," she muttered, feeling mutinous. "Never again. Not on your lives!"

Dean and Percivas silently produced a bouquet of daffodils intended to be a token of gratitude but it exploded in Hermione's face, sending bright yellow pollen in every direction.

"Tsk, Tsk," said a low gruff voice from the back of the classroom. Everyone turned to watch a tall, grey albeit powerfully built man wearing deep wine robes standing in the doorway. He had a mane of thick, grey hair pushed back from his receding temples and his face bore a distinctive resemblance of a war hero with its many lines and scars; the most noticeable being the gash about his left eyebrow. The man held himself in a manner of which exuded grace and formidability as he strode to the front of the classroom, smiling wanly at students along the way.

His light grey eyes gleamed with shrewd intelligence as they rested upon her friends.

"I think you'll do better with a Poufternitus charm if you wish to give the ladies flowers without blinding her in the process," he said ruefully. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley…"

Harry and Ron let out a gasp of horror as though they'd both realized the professor had read their minds and had discerned their true identities, unaware that he'd merely meant Dean and Percivas. Hermione chuckled despite herself.

The older man allowed a small smiled to grace his hard features before speaking.

"To those of you that have not the pleasure of being properly introduced to me, I am Professor Grimsby." He paused for a moment, the spoke directly to the newcomers. "I must apologize for my absence for the past weeks as I was nursing…an inconvenience," he finished mildly.

Hermione believed that this meant some sort of illness for his appearance, although grand, was marred by grayness that only came along with age.

"Professor Solstice had informed me that you've covered all revision tasks and began on the topic of Wizarding cosmology, correct?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"Alright," said Grimsby, leaning back on his desk. "Now that you have covered the basics, today we shall graze on the more, shall we say, _parable _aspect of this course, with the aid of your prior knowledge."

He flicked his wand casually and the lights dimmed. Grimsby spent the lesson talking about various stars systems that Hermione, or any other Muggleborn for that matter, wouldn't have heard of, for they were wizard-found constellations coupled by fascinating Wizarding mythologies that interested her so much that she clung on to every world the professor said.

Towards the end of the lesson, he surprised them by returning last week's homework; an epistle on the brief outlines of Wizarding constellations and its paradox to Muggle-found stars.

But what surprised Hermione the most was that she received an 'Exceeds Expectations' for a piece of work she had spent hours completing.

She instantly spun around and tried to squint at the grade Riddle received. To her dismay he had a black 'O' on the top of his neat paper, which was about half as long as hers.

She quickly scanned through her own parchment in disbelief; surely there must have been something wrong to earn her such an unorthodox grade for a subject she enjoyed and often found unchallenging.

"Sir," Hermione said, her eyes still fixed on her homework. "I don't understand…"  
She looked up, but Grimsby had already disappeared through the door.

…

Once they had left the classroom and hurried into the Great Hall for dinner at the Slytherin table, Hermione immediately swung her book bag atop the table cloth and began rummaging through its contents with incensed vigor, muttering to herself.

Ron and Harry caught snatches of her foul-tempered brooding "…Absolutely scandalous!…Completely and utterly out of order…an 'E' for a piece of silly planetary bedtime nonsense … Exceeds Expectations, indeed!"

"Hermione," yawned Ron through munching his banana cake. "It's just _one _bit of silly homework that you didn't get an 'O' for. Let it go…"

She stopped her angry rummaging and fixed a very steely stare to which Ron began to hide behind Harry nervously.

"Getting a question wrong is one thing," she said irritably. "But knowing that I got something right and having it miscorrected is another! I know I got that interpretation right!"

Ron gave Harry an exasperated look but he simply shook his head warily and pointed to his ballocks. Ron scowled.

"Here!" exclaimed Hermione triumphantly, fishing out a heavy, leather-bound book and dropping it on the table with a spine-jolting slam before wrestling with the other books, threatening to explode from her bag.

Ron picked it up. "_The Universe beyond Ignorant Muggle Instigations_" he read, frowning at the title.

"It's a little outdated," said Hermione still struggling to shrink the contents in her bag. "Read the third paragraph from the bottom of page one thousand and seventy-five about Philandeos."

"Er…oh, yeah: something-something as well as the interloping celestial structure of the star Philandeos. Right ascension: 10 h, Declination: −20°, Area: 1303 square degrees…yadidah… is indamines to its sister Eidvelynne's Hair, to which the pair are adjacent at eighty-three point three seven degrees from each other…"

"This often disrupts the point of motion of the orbitals of light since they are merely seventy thousand kilometers apart, causing orbitals of each star to become unstable, resulting in one or the other to expel voluminous energy as far as past the earth's atmosphere to earth. The parallel constellation to which Muggles are able to view is the Hydra; however there has been no record of a star parallel to Eidvelynne's hair in existence so far".

"See?" Came Hermione's muffled voice from the inside of her bag. "Normally I wouldn't be so adamant, but I was so sure that I was right because I've read it somewhere."

She popped her head out of her schoolbag and looked at Harry appealingly.

"Er, well done?" Harry offered uncertainly, having absolutely no clue as to what she was on about since he hadn't done any homework since last May.

"Thank you, thank you," mumbled Hermione gloomily, propping her elbows on the table and resting her head against them. "But it's not like it'll change anything, I suppose…"

Ron made a tutting noise and crossed his arms against her enormous book.

"Hermione," he said sternly, drumming his fingers along its spine. "You can't possibly go insane trying to right a mistake then just sit there in mourning because you don't think you can do anything further about it. At least jump up and down and start a mad rant again…"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Or just go see Grimsby and give him a piece of your mind. That ought to show him not to miscorrect the legendary Hermione Granger's homework!" They all ducked as Peeves the Poltergeist swooped down on their table and emptied an entire bag of pepper onto Harry's head.

"Yeaaaahhhh!!" bawled Harry and immediately leapt onto the table in blind rage and itchy pain and began throwing bananas at Peeves whilst swearing at the top of his lungs as everyone in the vicinity cheered.

"Harry, sit down!" gasped Hermione, tugging at his robes. Ron was doubled over with giggles at his friend who was still crouched on the top of the dinner table like an angry gorilla with a bad bowel problem.

Ron pretended to offer Harry a banana to which he eagerly took, winked at Hermione and sat back down on the bench, eating it happily as though nothing had happened.  
Hermione bit back a reluctant grin at Harry and Ron's obvious attempt to cheer her up. How she adored these scoundrels.

She grinned at them unreservedly. "Oh alright then," she said, pretending to grumble. "I'll go see him and leave you two in peace. Couldn't save me some of that tasty banana, could you Barry Trotter?" she added.

Harry gave a snicker "I'll tell you what Jane. I'll send you a leopard rag dress for Christmas this year—"

"And a loincloth for Riddle!" gasped Ron amidst a fit of laughter.

Hermione envisioned Tom Riddle in a spotted bikini and snorted in a whole glass of pumpkin juice up her nose and sprayed them both much to their unhappy protests.

.

Despite spending almost two hours in searching for the errant professor in the castle, staffroom and even squatting in front of his office, Hermione hadn't even so much as spotted an inch of wine coloured fabric. After the exhausting march about, she slumped dejectedly on the bench of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall and resigned to let the matter settle for the night and find him first thing in the morning to thrust her parchment under his nose. Slightly cheered by the thought, she pulled a plate towards her.

"Hey, Jane!" called a voice as she played with her food absently, while staring off into space.

Hermione looked up and saw the tall figure of Alphard Black padding purposely towards her.

"Oh, Alphard," she nodded in greeting once he had reached her table. Hermione felt the beginnings of a headache in her temples at the thought of having to elucidate her failure to him for the umpteenth time.

"You should know that I've tried my best, but Professor Dippet must have it in for me," she explained, shaking her head sadly. "I've tried yesterday but to no available, I'm afraid." At his curious expression, she hastened to add.

"But see, I've got some rather good points written here and I—"

"No that's what I'm here to tell you about," he interrupted with a bright grin. "Persia told me that Dippet finally gave in."

Alphard watched in filial delight as Jane's eyes widened with alacrity.

"What?_ Who_?" she croaked. He rather thought she sounded a bit like a toad and patted her on the arm sympathetically.

Hermione fought to find words to express her joy. Alphard leaned in and whispered in a conspiratorial way. "Word has it that Riddle was the one who spoke to Dippet and managed to convince him."

Hermione felt her stomach plummet to her knees along with her jaw.

"You're not serious?" she gasped, her hands flying to cover her cheeks.

Alphard shrugged. She just gaped at him until he cleared his throat significantly.

"Well, best be off to get dressed, Jane," he grinned.

She frowned. "I hadn't realized I was walking around without any clothes on."

He tilted his head. "Slughorn Fiftieth Slugfest, remember?!"

Hermione blinked.

"There's a _name_ for it?"

"Well it did say so on your invitation…" Alphard felt inside his robes and fished out the fancy piece of paper with a violet ribbon tied in a bow.

"Well I'll be," she mused eyeing it. "The professor has more hair than subtlety."

"A good thing, I suppose?"

"I suppose," Hermione echoed dully as Alphard got to his feet and helped her up unnecessarily. She was still stunned, not knowing whether it was from Dippet's relenting to the dance, or her discovery that Riddle had been the one to coerce him.

Alphard poked her in the arm.

"Alright, I'd better tell the rest of the others so they can finally rejoice. See you tonight at Sluggy's, Jane."

"Yes, I wouldn't dream of missing the Slugfestivities sure to come," she said dryly.

Alphard chuckled, and with a ceremonious wave he disappeared to the Ravenclaw table.

Hermione gathered up her bag and things. Before she left through the great double doors, however, Hermione couldn't help but steal a glance at the Slytherin table.

Tom Riddle appeared to be conversing lightly to a few older Slytherins who seemed to be staring at him in adoring awe. He had such grace, such cold authority and commanding presence that one could not help be mesmerized.

As if he could sense her, The Heir of Slytherin's dark head turned slightly, his fathomless gray eyes meeting hers.

.

* * *

Hermione quickly looked away and left the Great Hall, unaware that the man she had been staring at a moment ago gave a small knowing smile in her wake.

Hermione scurried from the Hall quickly, still absorbed in utter shock and confusion. Not only did Riddle finally agree with her, but he actually managed to charm the Headmaster into compliance. She couldn't help but feel reluctant admiration for his ability to charm teachers. Pity he was still such a loathsome being.

She rounded a corner without watching where she was going and smacked into another walking person.

"Ron!" she gasped, clutching her forehead.

"Oh Hermione, that really hurt," moaned Ron, rubbing his jaw furtively. "Please, you have to start watching where you're walking. Someone could lose an eye next time."

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. "Well, since you don't have detention, how's Quidditch coming along?"

Ron gave another painful groan.

"I overheard Malfoy telling McAllister, the Keeper, that he's going to force us to run laps, since he reckons the lot of us are becoming lazy, fat and unfit."

Hermione gave a low whistle. "I bet he's a bit mad because everyone's found out about him being discovered naked in a closet."

Ron slumped dejectedly against the wall.

An idea suddenly occurred to her and Hermione couldn't believe she had forgotten.

"Ron," she blurted. "Care to accompany me to Professor Slughorn's Slugfest tonight?"  
She colored slightly at her abruptness, but nevertheless hoped Ron would accept so she'd at least have a close friend with her inside the confined tent of Slughorn's office where she'd be sure to feel awkward among his guests. After all, hadn't Ron yearned to go with her last year?

"Er what? Oh yeah sure." Ron looked cheered up at the prospect of skiving Quidditch. "You owe me, I suppose."

Hermione arched an eyebrow.

"You were supposed to go with me, then you hooked up with _McLaggen_, remember?" There was a slight note of accusation in his tone.

She laughed despite herself, embarrassed at the memory. "Well, I highly doubt that history will be repeating itself, tonight," she said smugly. "Thank heavens. I wouldn't like to forego the only remotely peaceful evening because of a brute."

Ron grinned. "Pity we couldn't do anything about Harry, though…"

"No," agreed Hermione. "Pity…"

"But on the bright side, he'll be as healthy as a centaur tomorrow," he said slowly, his lips twitching.

"So he really should be thanking _us_, for a dramatically improved cardiovascular system," said Hermione also smiling.

With their guilt placed aside, they trudged happily up the steps until Ron stopped short.

"So when does this party-thing start again?" he asked.

Hermione frowned and searched her bag, finally fishing out a crumpled bit of paper.

"Hmm," she muttered. "Says eight-thirty…"

"Hermione, that's in half an hour!"

"So?"

"We have to get dressed formally!"

"Oh please," she scoffed. "When was the last time you were so particular about dress codes?"

"But we'll be prats if we don't, it's only polite," insisted Ron, suddenly dragging her up the stairs and through a few shortcuts behind numerous blue and red tapestries.

"Ron, release me at once!" commanded Hermione, though her ire was marred by amusement.

Ron finally let go and brushed himself off idly while Hermione stared dumbfounded at the wall that was supposedly their destination.

"And we are, _where _exactly?" she said scathingly. She looked around and noticed the familiar painting of Barnabas the Barmy and gave an irritated scowl. "Ron, if this is your idea of a joke…"

But Ron had just finished his pacing and grabbed the highly polished, brass door knob.  
"Hurry up, Hermione!" he said impatiently. "We have to get there and you know how it is: tardiness is rudeness."

Hermione gaped at him. "Since when have you become such a martinet for propriety?" she demanded.

Ron shrugged. "Alphard reckons that girls don't like sloppy blokes."

Shaking her head with disbelief, Hermione entered the door. The sight was quite incredible. The room was filled with bright flickering torches that lit up the entire airy arched room painted in ivory and gold. Racks among racks of vintage gowns and dresses hung in rows as were dinner suits and jackets of every shade that stood amass on the opposite wall.

"Wow," breathed Hermione. She walked over to the nearest rack and fingered a red silken sleeve of a dress. The clothes did not look new, but they were obviously tasteful and refined.

"Ok, just pick something quickly and get changed," intoned Ron, who began promptly searching for something to wear. "I'll meet you back here in ten."

Hermione didn't need any more encouragement. She began racing through the endless rows of clothing, searching for something that appealed to her. She riffled through greens; she went through reds and oranges and skirted past the pinks, reminding herself that she rather found it distasteful for some instinctive reason. Possibly because a particularly icy blonde called Persia was partial to the shade.

Finally, Hermione's eyes fell onto a splendid gown of amethyst satin, adorned with silver threading along the edges of the delicate squared neckline, buttoned-bodice and long, flowing sleeves. It looked perfect for her; simple, yet with a quiet sophistication.

Hermione quickly undressed and slipped on the gown, thanking her lucky stars that it was extremely flattering. Knowing that she would not have much time to return to her dormitory, Hermione bundled up her school robe and clothes, shoving them neatly under the hooped skirts of a mannequin wearing a frilly pink and white southern-belle gown.

"Oh there you are, finally!" said Ron, looking at her through his reflection in front of a large antique mirror when she found him.  
He goggled at her. "Wow, Hermione, that dress looks smashing on you." His eyes skimmed the silky dress with platonic appreciation as it clung to her curves and accentuated her slender waistline.

"Thank you," Hermione replied, eyeing him in surprise. "Gee, wish I could say the same for you, Ron. What on earth are you wearing?"

Ron was sporting a lime green suit with a golden bow-tie. "I think I looked rather dashing, you know," he said smugly. "I have excellent taste, Hermione, I always have."

"As a leprechaun, I'm sure," she blurted before she could stop herself.

"Ah, well. At least I don't have a matching hat and a cane." Ron walked over to her and handed her a black velvet ribbon.

Hermione stared at it. "Am I supposed to tie a pretty bow in your hair?"

"Quit joking 'round, Hermione it's for you. I saw Luna do it and thought it might suit you, too."

Dubiously, she let Ron tie a rather nice bow on the top of her brown curls.

"Good thing I'm a whole neck-and-head taller than you," he commented dryly as she swung around, her hair flying out and whacking on his face.  
"Let's roll".

"Hang on". Hermione reached out behind him and grabbed a black coat and draped in over her dress.

Ron gaped. "Don't tell me you've gone through all that trouble looking for that purple dress to wrap a great-stinkin' black cloak over it!"

She shrugged. "I won't stand out as much, besides," she tapped the side of her nose cheekily. "Head Girl must keep low profiles unless you want me to be discovered."

Ron huffed and strode out the door, muttering something that sounded a bit like 'bloody females' and their tendency to be 'so blasted contrary' , unaware that he was about to be flayed by one right behind him.

.

* * *

Professor Slughorn's 'Slugfest' was a smoky affair. The professor had most certainly outdone himself for his fiftieth birthday; magically enlarging his office to a magnificent golden marquee complete with a twelve-wizard ensemble band playing a jazzy tune in the centre of a large lacquered dance floor.

Tables, seating ten were arranged neatly to accommodate the eighty guests who were milling about, making polite conversations and sipping goblets of wine and champagne beneath a dozen glittering crystal chandeliers omitting brilliant sparks of light amidst the dim surroundings every few minutes.

"He must have paid a pretty Sickle for all of this," whistled Ron as he grabbed goblets for himself and Hermione. His eyes bugged out when he spotted a slender woman wearing azure dress robes with very long, wavy brown hair. He snatched Hermione's sleeve and tugged frantically. "Oh, Merlin, that's Celestina Warbeck!"

Hermione was still a trifle irritated, for her cloak had been pulled over her head in a little scuffle with Ron on the stairs (who thought it was morbidly wrong to wear such a hideous thing to a dinner party and was dumped unceremoniously into a enormous china vase at the bottom of the stairs), pursed her lips into a peevish line and said "Where?"

"_Right there!_ Oh, never mind… you just missed her…"

Hermione, distracted didn't notice a couple walking over to her, and when she took a sip of Butterbeer a loud voice sounded right in her ear that caused her to spit back in her goblet in surprise.

"_Oh it's a Leprechaun and his woman!" _trilled a shrill voice.

Hermione's eyes widened as she saw a young, nervous-looking man and a plump elderly lady who appeared to have over-indulged in wine and was pointing at Ron as if he were a newfound species.

"Mother!" cried the man in an exasperated voice.

The lady just huffed and stalked off tipsily to a different couple.

"S-so sorry," stammered her son to Hermione and Ron. "My mother isn't usually so brazen with the tonic…"

"No, that's alright," Hermione assured him automatically. "Please, don't apologize, everyone becomes a little taken away at these gatherings."

"Oh, well," he blinked, then… "I'm Charles, b-by the way." He stuck out his hand, but instead, accidentally socked Ron in the stomach, causing his goblet to tip onto his green suit.

"Oomph!"

"Oh no!" moaned Charles, visibly crumpling. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

Ron gave him a grim smile and shook his head. "Don't worry," he said gruffly shaking Charles' hand followed by Hermione. "Jacket can't get much worse than this."

"So you admit it!" Hermione exclaimed with delight. "You have terrible taste in clothing Severus, you _always_ have," she added, mimicking the smug tone he'd used on her before.

Charles puckered his brow in wonderment. "If you forgive me from saying so, I do believe that suit looks exactly the same as my great aunt Baffilda's"

Hermione felt a snicker rise in her throat. It probably was, she realized, seeing as though it was clearly worn and procured from the Room of Requirement. Ron seemed to have come to a similar conclusion as well, for his ears turned bright pink.

"Though I daresay the wine's improved it," nodded Charles, his expression earnest. "Now you look quite like a charming woodland creature that has been bitten!"

Hermione's chuckle turned into a guffaw.

"Oh trollop," she gasped, wiping her eyes and shaking her head at this romantic twist. "You have a most inspiring imagination Charles, you should be a poet."

"As long as you don't bloody well write about me," muttered Ron.

"Well, I say that you might just be correct, Miss Granger," nodded Charles enthusiastically.

Hermione smiled kindly. "I imagine that you will be quite a fine writer in any sense."

"Do you like Quidditch?" demanded Ron suddenly. Charles blinked. "But of course," he smiled.

While Ron and Charles began discussing fervently about the league, Hermione's eyes wandered fondly about the golden tent to the milling guests adorned in fine robes of every colour and fabric, to the orchestra playing a slow tune, to the refreshment table adorned in silver… and to the tall, dark-haired man leaning against it in an urbane manner surveying her over the rim of his champagne glass.

Her stomach gave a lurch.

_Riddle._

She had almost forgotten he'd be here tonight!

He looked every bit sophisticated in his black evening attire completed with an elegant ivory neckcloth.

…And sinfully handsome.

Hermione's stomach gave another lurch.

Of course he looked handsome, she fumed, as her eyes ran over his tall firmly built form, perfect bone structure, lingering over his dark hair with a thick, midnight lock that fell seductively into his unfathomable grey eyes.

And that wasn't a matter of opinion; Hermione reasoned objectively, some things were simply factual. Besides, she wasn't the only one who thought Riddle to be abominably striking as she became aware of the amount of female guests surveying him with great interest.

Feeling disgusted, she tried to pretend that she hadn't seen him as she stared blindly elsewhere in vain. But, oh it was too late! Hermione had the distinct feeling that he had been watching her for quite some time. Such a thought made her flush.

Hermione desperately continued to feign blindness, while her traitorous eyes kept sliding back to glimpse his reaction, only to find that he was smirking. With an irritated sigh, Hermione desisted since the blasted Head Boy looked so amused, that she had to give up to spare any shred of dignity left in her.

Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin up, Hermione made her way towards him.

.

* * *

The moment she had arrived on the arm of her gangly red-haired evening escort, Tom smirked. He raised his champagne glass to his lips slowly and surveyed her over the rim of the crystal with faint interest. She was wearing a startling amethyst gown that clung to her exquisite curves delightfully. As he watched Jane's rich brown curls gleam fetchingly in the chandelier light while she laughed merrily at something a guest was saying, he couldn't help but wonder why no one else seemed to notice her charms.

Tom cocked his head in lazy amusement as he studied her. To laugh at anything that came out of a nervous, blibbering idiot like Swattmore was an impressive feat. Clearly the huffy Head Girl possessed remarkable kindness.

Pity her generosity didn't extend to himself, he thought with a wry smile. No matter, that will all change. After all, he hadn't wasted the entire week stewing in disdainful silence, unlike his curly-haired nemesis. Despite receiving glowers from Jane Granger, followed by being skewered by her glares, not to mention that particular afternoon when she had purposely tripped and thrown a dead toad into his Inflamingus Wart Potion, Tom had remained perfectly composed, if not irritatingly so.

It wasn't as though she had wanted to provoke him out of malice, he reflected with irony. It was her blasted pride and stubborn spirit to retaliate and not let him best her after the night he attempted to devour her with his mouth to get what he wanted. It wasn't that great of a deal, really.

And yet...

Tom stopped smirking.

And yet there had been that tiny moment where he was rooted to the spot, then almost overcome by a barely irrepressible desire. For that instant he wanted to do nothing other than to pull that infuriating girl against his towering length and kiss her until she became weak with submission.

Oh Merlin, he thought, grimacing. He really ought to stop thinking about that if he was going to keep his head and sanity. This was _Jane Granger_, for goodness sake. That blasted annoying hellion was obviously trying to contrive something against him.

If only he knew what it was…

As mentioned afore, he hadn't spent the last seven days in silence for no reason. He had been watching her closely, _very_ closely when she was among those two jumped-up gorillas called Trotter and Snape. What kind of names were Trotter and Severus Snape, anyway?

But what had really interested him was the fact that they were always whispering in an uncharacteristically grave manner. At one point, he caught wind of his name among their fervent whispered conversations on more than one occasion. Normally this would not have bothered him in the least if it had been some other silly little group. He had much, much more pressing matters of which he'd rather care about. However, the fact that Jane Granger was among their ranks was something that should pose as a serious threat. After all, he thought darkly, his smirk turning into a small frown; she knew a potent portion of his past that would prove to be extremely dangerous.

Despite being slightly reassured that no-one in their right mind would believe her word over his for obvious reasons, did not comfort him as much as it ought to.

Jane Granger, he thought forebodingly, was too damn intelligent for her own good.

The only way he could prevent anything potentially incriminating to surface was to be rid of her. And since that was in every sense out of the question, Tom needed to devise another plan.

A better plan.

Oh, he had begun the tailings to some sort of ingenious yet unformed master plan; by yielding to the idea of that ridiculous Halloween event and even going to the trouble of convincing Dippet that it was "an opportune affair that would endeavor an enormous positive outlook within the school community as well as the general public who would appreciate the unorthodox, albeit cosmopolitan brilliance of the proposal"

Tom felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he recalled the expression on Jane Granger's face that could only be called thunderstruck this afternoon.

And now, he thought, watching her intently as her eyes flitted among the streams of guests… now that he had gained the upper-hand with her, if only he could figure out the best way to make her agreeable to his every whim, leaving no threat to his entourage and future plans.

He watched with satisfaction as Jane's sparkling brown eyes turned disdainful the moment they rested on him standing by the table of refreshments idly sipping on his crystal glass.

Tom supposed that plan or no plan, for anything to work; he needed her to be within an arm's length whether willingly or not.

He almost laughed when he saw her eyes darting nervously around the marquee, frantically searching for something to distract her and possibly save her from his presence. But Tom kept a level stare on her, every time he saw her steal a glance at him.

He graced her with a knowing look once she'd finally seemed to have come to the resolution that she could no longer ignore him, and with a flick of her long, wavy hair marched over to him belligerently.

Tom gave her a mocking smile and tilted his head in greeting. "Miss Granger."

Jane narrowed her eyes. "I should have known you'd be lurking in the darkest corner of a shady room."

"A surprising statement, given you were watching me out of the corner of your eye for the past five minutes," he said in a bored voice, to which she burst out indignantly:

"_Of all the arrogant, conceited—!"_

He arched an eyebrow coldly. "I see that you are speaking to me again."

"I wouldn't be revering that if I were you," Jane retorted, "For I have nothing to say that might further your ego."

"Since you are providing me with the greatest of insults?" he replied coolly. "I think not."

"Normally I would never say such things to any other lowly life form on this earth," The Head Girl shot back, her eyes sparking. "But seeing as it is only _you_, I shall endeavor to make an exception."

"How fortunate of me to be spared from such triteness," he said blandly.

Jane snatched a champagne glass from behind him and growled.

"A snappy retort," drawled Tom. "_Touché_, Miss Granger."

Jane looked like she was ready to explode.

"I expect _someone_ is anticipating some sort of gratitude to _his lordship_ after managing to manipulate a poor old professor to bend to his will," she said in a low, cutting voice.

Tom leaned back and offered her an arrogant smile. "No, just me."

Jane seemed to have become temporarily mute with outrage and he took the initiative to continue.

"And if it isn't too much trouble, Jane, please do not employ the use of my self proclaimed title whilst we are in a crowded marquee full of the most distinguished and influential wizards of the century."

Jane seemed to have found her voice. "And what? Allow them to discover what you are?" she said, sarcasm dripping heavily with every syllable.

Tom smirked icily. "As long as you don't embarrass the both of us in the process."

"I hadn't the notion that you were diabolical as well as insufferable and vain," she snapped.

"Only where you are concerned, Miss Granger."

Apparently ruffled by his nonchalance, Jane stood up to her full height (which was still a head shorter than he) and leaned in very threateningly.

"I don't know why you insist on being so utterly damning to me," she growled. "And I do not wish to expend any energy trying ascertain why. So if you will _excuse me,_" she said in a voice laced with acid. "I have a host to greet and several interesting and amiable guests to meet. Adjectives which clearly do _not_ reside within your vocabulary."

With a straight back and her chin titled up, Jane stalked away, unaware that Tom was smirking behind her.

She was such an easy mark, he thought, rubbing his hands together gleefully. He knew _just_ how to push her buttons.

.

.

Half an hour later, Tom was surrounded by a blustering group of highly influential witches and wizards from the ministry whom Slughorn had pressed upon him, claiming in his booming voice that Tom was the most outstanding pupil he'd ever had the privilege to teach in a very long time.

And the man in question was enjoying every bit of the attention.

"…A bright young man he is!" boomed Slughorn, balancing a glass of oak-matured mead in his left hand, and patting Tom genially on the shoulder with his right

"Will do Hogwarts proud someday—d'you realize that I haven't been wrong about a student, yet?"

Tom offered the group a bland smile, then caught the eye of an older, raven-haired beauty draped a deep red silk gown that accentuated her curvy form invitingly. He politely excused himself from the group and slid discreetly over to her.

"How do you do, Ms. Whittmore?" he said pleasantly, curving his lips into a knowing smile.

Mary Whittmore was reputed to be one of the most beautiful sorceresses of the century whose exceedingly rich husbands were found mysteriously dead, leaving their wealth to their beloved wife. He recalled smugly that she had never been one of the most faithful wives of the century either.

"Tom," she said in her low, sultry voice. "It has been an age since we have… crossed paths. I see that you have grown more handsome than ever."

_Crossed paths, indeed_. Tom smirked at her euphemism of their short, but lusty affair together.

"And, you, Ms. Whittmore are still as beautiful as you are devious since our last encounter." _As one of my many conquests over the last year_, he finished smugly.

He saw her dark eyes gleam with delight. Then leaned in a little closer and said in a sly whisper.

"My charms have been rather disgracefully in neglect for some time now. Do come by for a visit; I'm sure you'll still be proven to be very, very congenial company in midst of my loneliness."

Tom smiled lazily but did not reply, instead brushed a kiss on her elegant hand smoothly before making his way back to Slughorn with a silent apology.

"Not at all, Mr. Riddle, not all—may I introduce you to Mr. Cladsky, member of the elusive Gentlewizards's club in West Hampton?" The man nodded briefly "This is Armand Von Huffman—head of the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures and this is…"

However, Tom's mind was beginning to wander. How is it that he could seduce the most beautiful witch in the continent with such ease and finesse but not be able to charm the nosy impudent brat, Jane Granger? Since the annoying Head Girl was waging some sort of vendetta against him, she was also refusing to speak to him. How was he to rectify this problem?

A pimply young man wearing a luridly tailcoat the colour of catsick was chatting animatedly to the group.

"…And the solicitors said that grandfather's will _specifically_ stated that I must wed before I turn twenty-five, otherwise his business will be passed on to some loathsome distant relative…"

It wasn't that he really wanted to talk to her, Tom reasoned, but he hated being foiled, especially by that impertinent hellion who tried to outwit and outsmart him at every given opportunity.

"…and I find that the family business should remain, well, within the _immediate_ family, not to some greedy little tyrant…"

Hadn't she called him a tyrant before? Tom wondered mildly. Yes, it was during the time when they were both refrained in separate beds as occupants of the infirmary. It was the moment before she claimed that she knew about him killing the late Thomas Riddle and his elderly parents.

And the ring that he procured from his mother's brother…What a muck.

"….but not just any tally will do for me. No sir-ree! I want one who is sweet-tempered and…"

Sweet tempered? Jane Granger? _Ha!_ If there was a time when she wasn't slaying him with her razor-sharp tongue or pouring insults into his ears, it would have when she was mercifully drugged or knocked out cold.

And yet…Tom knitted his brow, there was that time when he was in the library and she had seemingly tried rather hard to be affable and civil when they were discussing the topic of books. No matter how ridiculous the conversation had been in retrospect, Tom almost found himself rather enjoying her company to his disbelief.

Now if only he could use that to his advantage…

"…and, of course, mother would have to like her and, well, you know my mother, she doesn't like anything much…"

_What to do?_

"…Lastly, I must say that she would have to be perfectly retiring, complaisant, manageable and obeying!"

Tom felt a devious smile unfurl his lips at the foolish youngling's words.

He couldn't have asked for a better opportunity if Merlin himself came back from the dead and conjured him one.

"Why McLaggen," he said smoothly, deftly plucking a glass of champagne from a moving platter.

"I know _just_ the right woman for you."

.

* * *

.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" boomed the voice.

Hermione spun around, choking and saw Slughorn beaming at her.

"P-professor," she choked.

"How delightful it is that you have made it. And with a guest too? How do you do?"

Slughorn smiled in Ron's direction who was trying to wipe himself with a napkin as though he was awaiting an introduction, which was rather peculiar since Ron had been in his class for at least a month and wreaked havoc in every single lesson, including the time when he accidentally set Slughorn's underwear on fire.

"I'm doing fine, thank you sir," said Ron pluckily, looking churlish. "Severus Snape, remember?"

"Oho!" Slughorn's eyes widened in surprise. "Sorry, m'boy. Didn't recognise you in that, er, courageous suit."

"Thank you, Professor Sinew," said Ron sarcastically.

"Eh? Oh!" Slughorn threw back his head and roared with laughter. Hermione suddenly felt very aware that everyone began to stare.

"Hahahahahahaaa!" guffawed Slughorn.  
Ron looked immensely pleased but Hermione had a suspicion that most of Slughorn's merriness had more to do with the amount of port he had consumed rather than Ron's wit.

He suddenly turned to Hermione and winked. "I am, of course, honored to have you two attend. As a matter of fact, you were the only student who brought a guest! Well done!"

Hermione's brows shot up in consternation as she scanned the crowds. Sure enough, she found Alphard Black grouped with what looked like a wizarding band guzzling down drinks. A few feet away she spotted Riddle looking darkly handsome in evening attire around a large group of simpering females whose dress robes were cut so low that their bosoms were in danger of toppling out. Hermione wrinkled her brow in discernment. Unless if she was mistaken, the robes actually looked as if they had been yanked down very low, judging by the way the ladies seemed to be quite literally tripping over themselves in front of Riddle.

Despite herself, Hermione found herself craning her head for a better look.

"Well, well, well," said Slughorn suddenly, startling Hermione from her inspection and motioning another guest in their direction. Hermione stared at a very large, very tall man who looked not a day older than twenty-five. His wiry red hair was combed back beneath a severe-looking hat and a monocle dangled from his immaculate flaxen coat.

"_Colonel Mustard?"_ she heard Ron gasp. Hermione stomped on his foot.

"This young man," said Slughorn jovially, monition to the sprite, "has been asking for an introduction to a 'Miss Jane Granger' all evening!"

"Oh?" asked Hermione politely, sparing a glare at Ron who had his mouth covered in his goblet for fear of laughter.

"May I introduce to you… Mr. Lester McLaggen!"

Ron choked on his goblet.

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face.

McLaggen gave her a greasy smile and snatched her hand, giving it an oily kiss to which she tried not to gag in fear of being rude.

"How do you do, Jane my dear?" he said in a painfully cultured accent that sounded extremely contrived.

"I'm doing fine thank you." She grimaced; taking her hand back and wiping it on the back of her robes discreetly while the git beside her sniggered.

"I though you were Scottish," demanded Ron suddenly.

McLaggen frowned and lifted his monocle up to his eye, surveying Ron with distaste.

"Some people, young man," he said in a dignified voice. "Regard that to ask one's origins in such a brutish manner to be uncouth!"

Hermione tried to stifle a laugh at the man's magnified eye that looked rather terrifying as it blinked frequently at Ron. "Kindly show some manners, or remove yourself from my person."

Ron shrugged carelessly and left, not before casting Hermione a wicked grin.

Hermione groaned.

"So what brought you to England, Mr.McLaggen—?" she sighed, forcing herself to be polite.

"Lester," he corrected.

"Very well…Lester?"

He grabbed a crystal goblet from a tray and stroked its stem thoughtfully, eyeing her with great interest for a few moments. Hermione instantly regretted asking.

"Well," said McLaggen still eyeing her significantly. "As a grown man of twenty-five, the heir of a very, _very large_ Unicorn menagerie industry," he added slyly before continuing.

"It is written in my father's will that I shall only inherit the family industry _if_…"

"If?" said Hermione, not particularly wanting to know the answer.

"If," he continued, a slow feline-like smile stretching his lips. "If I acquire…a _wife._"

Hermione looked at his dappling, greasy-like self and imagined him in bed with some poor woman. She shuddered convulsively.

"I see," she murmured, hoping that'll be the end of the subject.

McLaggen simply grinned at her almost expectantly.

"Well," she said, forcing a bright smile. "It has been a great pleasure becoming acquainted with you, McLaggen—I mean Lester, but I must find my friend…" she trailed off, looking for Ron. _Where on earth had he gone?_

Instinctively, her eyes landed on Riddle. Hermione had a peculiar feeling that he had been watching her not moment ago. She gazed closely and even from across the room, almost shielded by scores of females and wizards, Hermione could just make out a tiny smile etched on his lips. She narrowed her eyes.

McLaggen followed her gaze and nodded appreciatively.

"Ah yes, Riddle," he beamed. "Fine old fellow he is. Why, he was the one who pointed me out to you!"

Hermione blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, I told him about my quest for a young wife who would be easily manageable and he pointed me right out to you!"

Hermione spluttered with indignation.

"So this is some sort of a pre-arranged meeting?" she finally managed.  
"Of course," continued McLaggen, unaware of her displeasure. "However, he did warn me of your _immense _timidness in the company of men."

"He said _what?_" she said, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Said you weren't to be distressed with complex topics of conversation; to keep everything very, _very_ simple."

Hermione felt her blood boil. "How positively congenial of him," she bit off.

"He is quite the chap," said McLaggen with an approving nod.  
"I think I'll honor him as best man at our wedding," he said as an after thought.

Hermione's jaw fell to he knees. "_Our _wedding?" she croaked.

"Oops," chuckled McLaggen as he began searching his mustard coat. "That reminds me…where did I stow that blasted ring?" he muttered absently.

Hermione felt her eyeballs pop out of her socket.

"I-is t-this some sort of –_wedding_ _proposal?!"_ she fairly screeched.

"Of course!" he said, his head snapping up and looking affronted.  
"But my dear" McLaggen laid a hand on her shoulder, obviously believing that he was consoling a terribly shy and dim girl. "This won't trouble _our_ marriage in the _least_. You see, I am quite forbearing of mentally deficient women. Even if one has a speech impediment…"

"_What?!"_

McLaggen drew back his hand and stared at her in shock.  
"Yes, dear" he leaned in closer and whispered, "_Why, your lisp of course_. He said you cannot manage a single sentence without it!"

In her fury, Hermione almost opened her mouth to ask McLaggen if he knew that Tom Riddle still wet his bed but stopped. She suddenly had a better idea.

She forced a painful smile on her face.

"Lester," she said curtly, still trying to control her bubbling rage. "It has been a pleasure becoming acquainted with you. As much as I appreciate your, err, _marriage proposal_—" she uttered the word in distaste, "I would really rather join the nunnery than become your wife, let alone have the fortitude to exist as what you would call a _manageable wife,_" she added frostily, wiping the smug smile off McLaggen's boorish face.  
"Though I wish you the best of luck for your search for a spouse, fortunately, that woman shall never be me. Now I must bid you farewell".

McLaggen's expression took on pleading as he grabbed her sleeve. "Your lisp isn't very pronounced you know" he said rather soberly.

Hermione heard the bell ring to signal that supper had commenced.  
Turning back to the oversized and clearly over-bred Scots, Hermione gave Cormack McLaggen's grandfather a devious look.  
"_Oh_, it comes and goes..."

Hermione plastered a phony bright smile on her face, shoving her way through the moving crowds to where The Heir of Slytherin stood, elbowing the simpering witches and pipe-smoking wizards out of her way roughly, until she was directly in front of him.  
For a moment she glared daggers at him, enraged, as though she was going to disembowel him on the spot, an then…

.

"Care to esthcort me, good friend?" murmured Hermione, casting her eyes down shyly to his chin.

If Riddle wanted some daft, timid, lisping miss, then by golly, was she going to serve him one...!

.

* * *

Tom Riddle sat down in annoyance in front the irritating girl who was now smiling innocently around the dozen guests on their table through twinkling brown eyes.

Clearly, his plan to infuriate her into speaking to him had gone up in smoke. And it didn't help at all that he found her exceptionally lovely tonight, in her gown that clung to her figure and the black velvet bow perched on top of her brown curls attractively. Tom was beginning to wonder why it was that any other man never looked twice at Jane Granger as she walked by. And here she was, exuding light and innocence as she twinkled at him.

Tom snorted in disgust. He didn't for once second believe that she was acting innocent. He'd bet his own leg that she was up to something—she didn't seem the type to be above physical torture—especially when it involved _him_; no doubt because he had set that preening boor, McLaggen after her. But he was determined to not make himself look like a fool in front of these important wizards and witches.

Jane must have sensed his stare, because she turned around and gave him a knowing smile, flicking her eyes among the influential guests, plainly foretelling endless agony to come.

Tom's brows shot up in alarm. That was _exactly_ what she was planning! He thought narrowing his eyes frostily.

And dammit, he was _not _going to rise to her bait, no matter what she threw at him. Tom had always prided himself on self-control; he was feared for it. No little impertinent witch was going to take that away.

"Jane," he said evenly. She looked up. "Yeth?"

He felt a muscle twitch in his jaw.

"Pass the mustard," he slowly, through gritted teeth.

She smiled and passed him the gravy.

Tom swore under his breath and repeated his request. _Nicely._

"Oh, the musthard!" she said in surprise with a very irritatingly shrill twitter.

As she leant over to reach for the bottle, he grabbed her arm hissed in her ear.

"Don't think for once second that I don't know what you're up to."

"My apologies for forgetting that _your_ mind encompasses unsurpassable formidable intelligence," she hissed back.  
"Unlike _mine_" She shoved the bottle into his hands and sat back on her chair, looking impossibly calm.

"Tom," purred Mary Whittmore. "I hope you are finding your final year interesting."

Tom felt a smile unfurling his lips. If Jane Granger wanted to play, then he was more than happy to oblige.

"Why yes, Mary," he smiled. "As a matter of fact, I am the Head Boy this year, with that lovely lass seated across me."  
On the corner of his eye he saw Jane jerk up in surprise as all eyes fell onto her.

"How do you find your new responsibilities?" queried Mary politely. Tom folded his arms smirking and watched as she fought between politeness and revenge.

"Why, terribly fun," replied Jane shyly. "Asth my colleague keeps barging in on me during bath times!"  
A collective gasp sounded around the table and she continued blithely. "But he tells me that it's perfectly natural for a man to want a woman like me…"

Mary gasped and stared at Tom in shocked accusation.

"My firm apologies, Ms. Whittmore," he said smoothly, but marred the effect by speaking through clenched teeth. "But I fear that _dear Jane_ has had much more champagne than she could handle. Such bouts often loosen her imagination as well as her tongue."

Tom shot her a look of pure menace as she gave him a self-satisfied smirk.

He felt a muscle twitch in his cheek in addition to his jaw.

"I hear there is to be a change in Halloween activities this year," prompted another wizard called Barnadown, nervously once the table had settled down.

"Yeth it is moth taxing," said Jane, to her speaker's coat.

"Well, I'll be," said Barnadown as the other guests nodded in astonishment. "How on earth did you manage to convince Armando Dippet? In my days, he was as stubborn as a mule!" The others laughed in agreement.

Tom opened his mouth for a charming remark, but Jane beat him to the punch.

"I believe Riddle begged," she grinned.

She gave him an arch look as the other guests uttered a delight gasp of amusement.

A quivering muscle in his temple joined with the others.

_Breathe slowly_…Tom commanded himself as his fingers shook in fury. He immediately grasped a silver knife and squeezed to steady his nerves, or if only to have some sort of sharp object in between him and the witch, he thought dryly.

"I suppose you do know how to charm even the stodgiest of people, Tom," cooed Mary, touching his arm flirtatiously. "A skill that should be imbibed in all young men so that marriage would be an easier task."

"I don't thuppose Riddle endeavors to ever wed" said Jane shyly "I do believe he enjoys the company of hith male friends, more!"

Tom's eyebrows shot up at the insinuation of his gender predilection.

"Quite the contrary, _Miss _Granger," he ground between his teeth. "I enjoy the company of females. _Very. _Much. So."

"Oh, I'm sure men of your likeness do," she said archly, obviously implying that he was a fairy who liked over-indulging in prissy female activities.

"You are mistaken," he said coldly and firmly turned his attention back to Mary who was eyeing them curiously.

"Ms. Whittmore," Tom murmured, turning the charm back on. "I've been meaning to compliment you on your dress. I must say, red looks ravishing on you."

"And must I say that black makes you look unbearably handsome," she said in a low sultry voice, reaching over and tugging his neckcloth playfully. _"Devastatingly so, if I may add," _she purred huskily.

"I don't thuppose you two are related, are you Riddle?" interrupted a loud lisping voice.

Tom turned around slowly to face her and gave a nonchalant arch of his brow in question.

She shrugged. "Only brothers and thisthters act so close in public."

Tom ignored her last comment and gave her a disdainful look, to demonstrate that she did not bother him in the least. His insides felt like exploding.

"Why, Riddle," whispered a wizard excitedly. "You must introduce me to your charming friend."

Tom frowned slightly and looked back at Jane, who immediately stared at her plate with unnatural concentration.

"Jane Granger," he said in a bored voice. "Warwick Anglesford. Anglesford, Jane Granger." He looked at her. She was still staring shyly at her plate.

"Jane?" he repeated.

She suddenly looked up abruptly as though shocked at being addressed at public and gave Anglesford a quavering smile.

"I'm sthorry Mr. Anglesthford," she demurred. "But I wath jeth wondering why the plathes were tho clean?"

Tom felt his jaw drop.

The impertinent Head Girl was acting moronic just to _humiliate_ him!

Anglesford's eyes widened so much that his eyeballs were threatening to fall out of their sockets onto his own plate.

"Why, I—er, imagine that the Hogwarts house elves wash them," he said, clearing his throat and smiling patiently.

She smiled absently and drew circles around her plate with her fork. "Thath prepostherith!" she announced loudly, shaking her head and alarming everyone including Tom.

She suddenly shot an impish grin at him.

"Riddle here told me the wizarding god, Aloompusth cried on them for a month beneath the waning moon!"

"I said no such thing," he growled coldly. He wasn't even certain if Wizarding gods existed, let alone one named Aloopus who wept upon kitchenware.

"Mr. Riddle you should be ashamed of yourself for telling such lies to such a sweet thing!" cried an elderly witch. "She is clearly light in the head and you must be horribly wicked to fun her so!"

"I'll say," huffed her robust friend. "She must have been chosen especially for her charms if not for her mind and this must be a case of sour raisins on your part, young man!"

Hermione beamed at her success at pulverizing Riddle's attempt to impress the famous witches and wizards.

"_That's it!"_ hissed Riddle. He stood up from his chair, launched himself over to her side and hauled Hermione off her chair.

He was such an easy mark, she grinned, mentally whooping with glee. She knew _exactly_ how to push his buttons.

.

* * *

"We haven't even gotten to the soup course yet!" she complained as he dragged her by the arm to the crowd filling the dance floor.

"I've just about had it with you, Granger," snarled Riddle stopping dead in front of a stone pillar.

Hermione gave him an acid look. "I would've thought you'd be pleased."

"And where could you have _possibly _pulled that from?" he snapped.

She felt herself bristling and hissed. "I thought you'd be pleased at my performance of a timid, lisping half-wit since it is clearly your perception of me!"

Riddle stared at her for a moment, surprise clearly written across his face. "I don't," he said, a small incredulous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Well, that's what you told McLaggen who obviously thinks I'd make the perfect wife for him," she spat, growing more nettled by the second.

"Did he propose to you?" asked Tom in a mildly interested tone. The only thing he had actually told McLaggen was that she was retiring miss who lisped. He supposed that out of the man's desperation, he had formulated his own conclusions of Jane.

"Yes!" she snapped, boiling with rage. "And he agreed that I'd be a 'manageable wife' as you so _kindly_ informed him!"

Despite himself, Tom laughed at the ludicrous accusation.

"What's so funny?" she demanded, her eyes blazing.

"No-one could ever mistake you to be manageable, Granger," he said, chuckling.

"You know very well that I could probably destroy the entire male race if I choose to do so," said Hermione fiercely. "And I wouldn't make your demise any less painful and horrific."

"Your tender solicitude quite moves me," he said dryly. "Perhaps I shall use the same tact when persuading Dippet next time, lest my charms become unfounded."

"Oh please," scoffed Hermione. "What did you do, tried seduce to him as well?"

Riddle gave her a very cold look. "Of course not". _Wretched beast_, his expression seemed to add silently that Hermione almost smiled.

"That's a likely statement," she said dryly. "One of which I am ill inclined to believe since you've already attempted to terrify me with your dissolute ways twice since I had arrived. So forgive me if I offend you with my doubtfulness."

Riddle gave her a scowl. "As I plainly stated before, I enjoy the company of women as opposed to _men._"

"I'll bear that in mind the next time I see you with a pack of young men in the dungeons," she teased.

"Your impressive ability to irritate never ceases to amaze me," he said sarcastically.

Hermione gave him an amused side-glance. "Being irritating to yourself, I wonder why we don't get on as famously as we should."

Riddle gave her a look of cool skepticism. "I doubt you could even fathom to be agreeable for as long as a week," he said, idly brushing the cuff of his sleeves.

"I assure you I can," Hermione retorted. "It's just that I _choose_ not to be in your company in fear that I will do bodily damage to you."

A dark, unreadable expression shadowed Riddle's face for a moment as though he were lost in deep contemplation.

Until a slow smirk unfurled his lips.

"Why Jane," he said in a silky tone. "You have just given me a wonderful idea."

Much to her credit, Hermione didn't even blink. "Have I?" she said indifferently. "I shudder to think that I was accredited to your nefarious tides of hatred towards the human race, in which you hope to achieve total domination over in the near future."

But to her annoyance, Riddle just smirked at her.

"Quite the contrary," he said smoothly, his grey eyes gleaming. "I have every intention to be at harmony with," He paused then added in a low velvety tone, "_Certain divisions of the human race._"

Hermione speared him with her eyes. "_How _certain, exactly?"

Riddle gave her a wickedly devastating look that made Hermione's stomach tumble

"One of which constitutes just you?"

Trying to maintain her composure, she managed to form the words in a rather raspy. "W-What are you saying?"

Tom Riddle gave her a smoldering stare before leaning in so close to her that she gasped.

"Jane," he said in a dangerously soft voice against her ear.

"I have a proposition for you."

.


	20. The Lure

_A/N: Dear Readers!_

_Again I must thank you for your overwhelming support and reviews. You bring light to my day and spur me on. I realize that it has been many months since I have updated and added a new chapter, but there has been so much going on in my life and the sands of time seem to trickle at a doubled rate when this happens._

_However, every review, no matter how long, brief or vague, brings me such joy and encouragement. I realize that I have begun this story in the silliest, strangest and most absurd way imaginable (though exceedingly enjoyable to write!) and could not __believe that there are those of you out there who are willing to actually sit down and read it, no matter how unpolished and hyper the writing!_

_And for this reason, I return many thanks. You are truly the reason why I am continuing the story, even if it means putting a halt on some other part of my day._

_As long as there is one reader out there who somehow halfway enjoys my story, I promise you the chapters will keep rolling in._

_My best,_

_W. R_

* * *

_Previously..._

.

_A dark, unreadable expression shadowed Riddle's face for a moment as though he were lost in deep contemplation._

_Until a slow smirk unfurled his lips._

"_Why Jane," he said in a silky tone "you have just given me a wonderful idea."_

_Much to her credit, Hermione didn't even blink. "Have I?" she said indifferently. "I shudder to think that I was accredited to your nefarious tides of hatred towards the human race, in which you hope to achieve total domination over in the near future."_

_But to her annoyance, Riddle just smirked at her._

"_Quite the contrary," he said smoothly, his grey eyes gleaming. "I have every intention to be at harmony with..." He paused then added in a low velvety tone, "__**Certain** divisions of the human race__"._

_Hermione speared him with her eyes "__How __certain, exactly?"_

_Riddle gave her a wickedly devastating look that made Hermione's stomach tumble_

"_One of which constitutes just you?"_

_Trying to maintain her composure, she managed to form the words in a rather raspy, "W-What are you saying?"_

_Tom Riddle gave her a smoldering stare before leaning in so close to her that she gasped. "Jane," he said in a dangerously soft voice against her ear._

"_I have a proposition for you"._

.

* * *

...

* * *

**Chapter 20:**

**The Lure**

...

The golden marquee glittered with amber crystals from the chandeliers overhead as Slughorn's guests milled about in their finest robes, gossiping happily and drinking copious amounts of rich brandy in silver goblets, discussing politics, Quidditch and the latest style of pointed hats.  
"A slave for fashion those younglins' are," huffed an elderly witch to her friend, looking sourly at a group of middle-aged ladies. "Don't know what those harpies are wearing these days, the hats are with much too point than is respectable!"

Slughorn himself was attempting a particularly complicated-looking jive on the polished dance-floor; his feet were jerking in every conceivable angle to the lively jazz by the Big Band. The trombone player yelped in agony as Slughorn's curly-buckled shoe escaped from its owner's wriggling foot and smacked him square in the face. Slughorn's dance partner, a dark-haired witch in exotic peony petticoats, was inching nervously away, clearly hoping that she would not be in range of any of his excited flailing limbs.

With Slughorn making such a wonderfully entertaining spectacle of himself, no-one was paying any particular attention to the couple in the far corner of the dimly lit marquee, half concealed by the towering stone columns. Had anyone indeed glanced in their direction, they would merely have taken the pair to be having a very intimate conversation.

Unfortunately, one of the participants was most unwilling. Rather, she was trying extremely hard not to draw her wand and smite the Heir of Slytherin with the Curse of the Avenging Boogies. It was just a shame that her wand was in the pocket of her school-robes in the seventh-floor…

…And a shame that he had shocked her into speechlessness with his… _nearness_.

Feeling as if her lungs were constricted, Hermione wrenched herself away from the tall, black-clad devil smirking at her.

Giving him a look of pure disdain, she snapped "If you want to persuade me, then you're not going to succeed by trying to eat my ear off!"

A low chuckle rumbled from him, making her feel, if possibly, even more ruffled.

"Though the idea does have its merits," murmured Tom Riddle. "It won't have anything to do with what I am about to offer you."

Hermione took a horrified step back and bumped into a dancing guest, causing him to drop his plump, feathered-gowned partner in the middle of a tricky-looking lift, the witch yelped as she flew headlong into a vast table stacked with an enormous pyramid tower of shimmering crystal goblets.

Witches and wizards shrieked as the priceless glassware toppled row by row onto the stone floor, emitting a spectacular explosion, spilling its contents like a glorious cascading rum fountain.

Numb with mortification and awe at the disaster, Hermione didn't feel the sharp tug around her waist, pulling her away as shards of glass flew in every direction.

Warm, strong arms held her at a small distance.  
"Merlin, Granger, were you trying to pass-off as a living bed-of-nails tonight?"

Looking up, Hermione saw a pair of gray eyes staring at her with something that could almost resemble astonishment.

"No," she mumbled miserably. "But I think I'm cursed".

Riddle eyed her curiously as his arms slowly released her. "What makes you say that?"

"Because," she gave a small sigh, throwing her arms up in frustration. "I am cripplingly clumsy, have the responsibility of eight people, hold the happiness of a thousand and am cursed with your damned presence!"

A corner of Tom Riddle's mouth curved.

"Well, the clumsiness I can't be of much aid," he said dryly. "But as for the rest of your shortcomings, I can remedy."

As though he was trying to gouge her expression, Riddle slowly leaned against the stone column, crossing his arms negligently, resembling a shadowy demon.

"Even your damning presence?" said Hermione in a mock dubious voice. "Well, I suppose in that case, how can I refuse?"

When he didn't reply, she stole a look at him, but not a trace of emotion showed in his unfathomable eyes.

Hermione felt a prickle of trepidation.

_And suddenly this conversation is taking a turn for the worst._

"All right Riddle," she said cautiously. "What are you suggesting?"

Riddle leveled an even gaze. "Before I tell you, I would like to ask you the extent of you knowledge on managing students."  
It wasn't a question.

Hermione's lips thinned. "I beg your pardon?"

He gave curious tilt of his head. "How do you win the respect of your peers?"

"_How do I—?_" Hermione felt the heat rise up to her forehead. "Of _course _I know how to earn other people's respect!" she said hotly. "If I didn't then I wouldn't be here in the first place, doing my own head in with the compunction of organizing what's to be Hogwarts' most anticipated event in a _century_, with naught but little more than a dozen others helping me!"

Snapping her mouth close, she suddenly felt an unfamiliar fury boil inside her. Despite her earlier irritations over his behavior in the evening, Hermione had never wanted to slap anyone as much as she did Riddle right now.

"How dare you criticize my methods of running the school at this time," she snarled, her voice filled with contempt.  
"When you yourself hadn't found it worth your salt to take the slightest interest since it had begun."

They were silent for a moment, and Hermione refused to look at him, too infuriated and feeling incompetent rage at her situation. She, Harry and Ron had practically been ejected from their own time, wrenched from her family in the midst of a war and into the life of this villain, who would be the cause for the endless death and destruction in the future.  
And instead of discovering a way to transport the three of them back to their own time, Hermione was stuck here, bearing the growing guilt and burden of failure for having accomplished nothing heretofore.  
Nothing about Horcruxes or the mysterious book which had disappeared with nary a trace; nothing about Riddle's past that could help them be on their merry way, and nothing in spite of her tireless attempts to engender an event that would mend her school's tarnished reputation.

The silence stretched on until Riddle was the first to break it. Hermione didn't know what she expected to hear, but it certainly wasn't what he said.

"Now that you're done, might I have a chance to speak before you engage in another monologue?"

His voice was laced with mild amusement, devoid of any trace of sympathy.

Hermione's face purpled as her eyes bulged.  
_"Ooooooooh!!_" she growled, her right hand curling into a tight fist.

But just before she was going to smack him in his handsome, arrogant face did she realize that he was looking at her expectantly. Then did she remember that there had _actually_ been a question within the rudeness.

She turned her blazing eyes on him. _"No."_

"Just like that? No?" Riddle said, raising his eyebrows slightly. "'And she goes through life, her mouth open, and her mind closed'."

Hermione balked at his casual words.

"Why, if it isn't the Devil quoting scripture, himself!" she flung back nastily, beginning to move away with a swish of her silken robes.

_'Sodding Heir of Slytherin_,' she mentally growled,'… _thinks he's so special just because he has a slithery monkey-faced ancestor...can bloody well see the resemblance now…evil git…' _

There was a moment of silence before she heard his charismatic voice speaking again to her retreating form.

"I think you may have misinterpreted my meaning," he said quietly. "It wasn't intended to imply that you haven't been trying to earn the deference of your peers."

"…but there is a difference between earning one's respect and winning it."

Hermione stopped, her hands fisted to keep them from shaking.

"Why are you suggesting that I need to garner everyone's approval of me?" she hissed, trying to keep the sting from her voice.

Somehow she knew the aristocratic face of Tom Riddle was impassive as held her under his scrutiny.

"Because you're Muggleborn," he said quietly. "Where you came from it may have been different. But this is Britain; the capital of blood Puritanism and prejudice against those of your lineage."

"And whose fault is that?" Hermione demanded in a tightly controlled voice. "Whose great ancestor from the eleventh century began all this rubbish in the first place, and who contrived genocide two years ago in order to finish his adder-faced swine of a forefather's dirty work?"

"I think we both know who," Riddle replied softly, his expression unreadable. "But that knowledge won't solve your current problem where even half of your subjects won't listen to your commands while the rest of the school casts aspersions on you beyond earshot, simply because you're not one of them."

That last revelation shook her to the marrow.  
For a moment Hermione didn't believe him... she had thought that most people generally accepted her as one of the new Heads of the school. Until she realized how utterly naive she had been. Of course there would be those who turned up their noses at a 'Mudblood'.  
This was _fifty_ years ago from her present time. The time where people like Draco Malfoy's grandfather thrived and the era in which muggleborns are still considered second-class.  
Although no-one had directly insulted her, there may have been more than a few occasions where she would have been ostracized from groups if it hadn't been for Phyllis or some of her other friends' intervention.

"And judging from your passionate speech," Tom Riddle added softly. "I can only fathom that you could use a little assistance, at least to lessen your burden for a while."

Hermione felt a slight rustle behind her as he moved away from the wall to stand behind her.

"And so I am offering to you the one solution to all of your problems." He stepped around from behind Hermione in an arc, facing her.

"Me."

She slowly looked up at him, hurt still evident in her eyes for a split second. She quickly hid it under a stony semblance.

"You may be right about how some of the prefects refuse to listen to me," she said, a note of defiance still audible. "Be that as it may, at least they do not think any less of me as a leader for being a Muggleborn."

"Yes," her Head counterpart agreed. "But without my presence, neither they nor the rest of the school will accept you. Don't you see?" He took her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. "The problem is _much_ deeper than some Halloween ball on Friday."

Hermione let out a wobbly shout of laughter that sounded almost hysterical.

She gave him a push and took a step back.

"Riddle," she said shaking her head, with a small smile. "How _gullible_ do you think I am?"

He merely stared.

"If that wasn't the most high-handed, arrogant thing I've heard in my life!" she continued, raising her eyebrows. "Offering me _yourself_ to solve my problems!"

Taking a step towards him Hermione tilted her chin in the air. "I don't believe that you would think me foolish enough to accept even a bloody muffin from you," she ground out, "much less a favor without wanting something in return for your troubles!"

Shaking her crown of bushy curls, she glared at him through her lashes irritably.

"First you rage at me for approving a Halloween Ball without your permission, then you became all irritating simply to goad me... and now you're proposing some sort of depraved scheme?" Hermione shook her head again, this time in horror. "By George, I think I finally got to you and made you mental!"

A corner of Riddle's lips twitched.

"I'd hate to disappoint you, Granger, but it seems that you are entirely mistaken." His gray eyes burned into hers. "I was displeased because you found it beneath your good sense not to consult me before sanctioning something to which you held little authority over. Secondly, I was irritating you only to goad you into being on speaking—pardon me—on _arguing_ terms with me, in hope of leading up to this moment…"

The Heir of Slytherin inclined his dark head slightly, so his glittering eyes bore directly into her.  
"To a proposition that would undoubtedly benefit you."

Hermione felt her hands ball into fists beneath her long violet satin sleeves, but could not think of a retort scathing enough, for she was intrigued by his words against her own will.

As though sensing her relenting, Tom Riddle gave her a disquieting stare. "Now that I truly have your attention, I want you to listen very carefully..." His voice dropped to a murmur, "You need my help—don't bother denying it," he interrupted when Hermione opened her mouth to argue.  
His eyes turned to stone. "Come now, your failed attempts to persuade the Headmaster recurrently for over a fortnight provided more than sufficient confirmation as it is."

"So," Hermione managed to grit through her teeth, knowing that he was right on that aspect as well as his elucidation on her heritage. "I believe you were on the verge of offering something—?"

His eyes were unreadable as they watched her closely.

"Come outside with me," he said in his enigmatic manner.

Before she could protest, Hermione was led deftly across the shiny wood of Slughorn's dance floor through the throngs of swaying couples by the raven form of Tom Riddle, who rested a hand lightly upon the small of her back, the other cunningly placed on her wand arm.

_"Harrumph"_ puffed Hermione morbidly, as he gracefully escorted her to the doors leading to an open balcony.

.

As soon as they stepped over the gilded threshold, the music magically faded, leaving them in silence.

In the darkness, without any form of lighting available save for the twinkling blanket of stars, this place was ideal to share a private conversation. Or something much more private.

Hermione closed her eyes drew in a deep breath of fresh, crisp night air, allowing the slight breeze to ruffle her long curls, relieved to finally be somewhere other than the smoky office of Horace Slughorn.

Here, Tom Riddle relinquished his hold on her and strode to the parapet of the balcony. Leaning against it negligently, he surveyed her for a moment in silence.

Hermione stared at his profile against the glittering starlight as she stood motionlessly.

She felt slightly uneasy that he had the advantage over her since he could see her face, her expression, while all Hermione saw was the long, dark silhouette of Lord Voldemort.

Beneath the haughty facade she was valiantly displaying, Hermione felt his silvery eyes burn into her. In the marquee where guests were present and the room was well lit, Riddle seemed the incarnation of charm. However, beyond the laughter, the music and the safety of the crowd, in the darkness outside where they were alone in the shadows…

She was only too aware that she was standing alone in the presence of the Dark Lord.

There was something in the air about him that bespoke of quiet power, a silent warning, hinting the carnal danger in his bearing.

In the end, it seemed that the night unveiled Tom Riddle's true color.

His eyes were hard, and they bore directly into her as though delving her life's secrets, until he finally spoke.

"Consider this," he said softly, a long-fingered hand drumming idly against the balcony he leaned against.  
"For the sennight leading up to the ball, I will work alongside you without animosity provided that you will do the same, garnering appreciation and respect from every authoritative figure…"  
He paused and observed her carefully, before saying in a gentler tone.  
"With my aid; you will be free to do as you wish, thereby encompassing the privileges no other Head prefect has ever known."

"Except you," said Hermione softly.

"Except me," he agreed lightly.

Hermione stared, trying to take in his words, his meanings, and the implications behind them. Yet she could not deny the advantages of having him with her for the entire week. It went beyond the mere Halloween exterior. This was just the offering she, Ron and Harry were looking for. For weeks they have been unsuccessful in their quest to harvest information on Lord Voldemort's past. The mystery of the vanishing book of Horcruxes remained unsolved and time was running out. It did not seem that they were getting anywhere and Hermione inwardly feared that whether of not Dumbledore was correct in his theory that they would return home later than expected… they could in fact disappear at any time, returning to their modern lives without resolving the past…

And Tom Riddle, whether inadvertently or intentionally, was offering Hermione a solution to her problems just as he claimed to. She remembered grimly that over the weeks she had been here, he had all but avoided her, having known that she was privy to his dark misdeeds. But now he has practically offering her insight into his life whether he realized it or not.

Hermione began pacing about the balcony, thinking hard, running his smooth words through her mind over and over again.  
"This all sounds relatively simple..." she murmured, unaware that he was watching her every movement. "'Get along with me and I'll do your bidding'."

She paused and lifted her brown eyes to him. "But what I'd like to know is what you would be getting out of this bargain, Riddle?"

Despite being unable to see his face properly in the darkness, Hermione could tell that there was a small mocking smile etched on his lips.

"We all have our secrets, don't we Miss Granger?" he said silkily. "Our own little hidden agendas buried deep within, as we hope to deliver what others might like to hear?"

Hermione's lips thinned at the rhetorical question but did not reply. He was far too perceptive than was comfortable…it was almost as if he knew…

The Heir of Slytherin shifted his position very slightly, so she could see part of his face, reflected by the starlight. His eyes glittered, resembling diamonds.

"Whether or not you will admit it, Miss Granger," he said in a deadly calm voice. "You have other incentives than the ones I have provided. Would it only be fair to say that I may have my own?"

The look Jane Granger gave him was so cold it could have frozen the lake. But this only proved that he was getting to her.

"Believe me," he prodded in a softer tone. "You may have more to lose if you did not accept." His mild tone shadowed the underlying threat.

Hermione stared into those coldly calculating eyes searchingly again, trying to find…hoping to see…

She wrenched her gaze free as realization came. She could not seem to find anything in them that resembled warmth.  
And they say that eyes reflected one's soul… and Hermione now believed that the reason why she could not find anything hidden in those silvery depths was because he did not have one.

Hermione lifted her eyes back at him, but dropped her voice into a whisper.

"I don't trust you."

Hermione saw Riddle's jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.

But when he spoke, his voice was impassive as ever.

"This isn't an issue of trust, but of expediency," he said in a coolly bored voice. "So I beg you not to waste my time debating the virtues of moral principles, for I can assure you I have neither."

Straightening from the parapet, Riddle moved quietly to the door leading back to the party.

When he reached the handle, Riddle paused, his head inclined slightly.

"The offer expires at dawn," he said quietly. "And Miss Granger…? Don't let moral obligations obstruct your perception of the world at large…"

There was a beat of silence, before he whispered.

"Because in reality, more may be at stake than just your pride."

The door closed with a gentle snap, leaving Hermione staring after him.

………………………..

* * *

...

Hermione stood in the center of the crowded dark ballroom, having no clue as how she'd gotten there.  
Scores of dancing couples gracefully edged around her and she stared blindly at the swirling colors.

Her head was pounding furiously at a pace that matched the rapid thundering of her heart. She fought to breathe, though hardly caring if she could or not. Her brain felt stunned as flashes of the past night's events swam back into her panicking mind.

_Merlin, what have I done?_

Through a cloud of hysteria, Hermione forced herself to calmly reassess the proposition Tom Riddle had made…but all she can see through her confusion was the image of the Slytherin's freezing expression as he told her that he did not possess the traits which deemed one to humanity.  
_Did he truly believe that?_ Hermione's brain whispered. _Is he already irretrievably lost to the depths of darkness?_

If it was true, the incarnation of Lord Voldemort cannot be prevented.

Hermione shook her head, as if to clear it of the terrible resulting images.

Even if Tom Riddle believed he was incapable of humanity….

She didn't…

Because Hermione wasn't ready for him to die at the hands of her friends.

She knew that she was being naive, to even fathom for a second that he isn't Lord Voldemort. But something kept nagging the back of her mind, warning her that something did not add up. Despite Albus Dumbledore's pre-assessment of Voldemort's earlier life, her intuition whispered something was not quite right… there were too many pieces that seemed to be missing…

Searching for any sign of bright red hair, Hermione wanted desperately to leave the crowed marquee with Ron and find Harry.  
Somehow, the thought of being with both of them momentarily soothed her frayed nerves.  
With her breathing returning to an almost normal rate, Hermione spotted a tall boy with red hair under the dim lights at the refreshment table and quickly hurried over to him.

"Sev! _Where have you been?_" she yelled, a slight hysteric note still audible in her voice as she elbowed dancing pairs.

To her horror, the boy wasn't Ronald Weasley.

It was Lester McLaggen.

McLaggen was staring at her, gaping as though he couldn't believe his eyes at the glorious sight he beheld.

"Jane," he slurred, his eyes growing wide but glazed, "you are soo beaut'ful."  
Hermione took a cautious step back and noticed that he was carrying a jug of Firewhiskey in one massive hand, confirming her suspicions. Although she never minded being called 'plain' or 'passable-looking', Hermione cringed at being called 'beautiful' because she knew that the only way she could dubbed so was because one had to be drunk. Sodden drunk.

"McLaggen," she said cautiously, retreating further back. "How much have you had to drink?"

"'Bout a few pints jus' or so, lassie," he said in a thick Scottish accent and burped. "C'mere and give yer fiancée a coddle, eh?"  
Hermione fought the urge to chuckle at his true brogue, which he had worked so hard to conceal all night with a horrible English one.

"No, I don't think so," she said firmly, reaching over and snatching the jug that was threatening to spill, "you need to go home and get some sleep—"

"Yer so kindly, Jane," said McLaggen soberly. "S'no wonder yer, my wife."

Hermione dodged when a large arm shot out to grab her. "I am _not_ your wife," she told him sternly, placing a hand on her hip.

"But yer wull be!" declared McLaggen, trembling. "I need a wife or I won't get me my company."

The band started to play an upbeat rendition of 'Sing, Swing, Sing' just as McLaggen suddenly leaped out; trying to hug her, but Hermione was too quick for him. He lunged at her again and Hermione darted backwards only in the nick of time.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, retreating further away from the gigantic Scot.

"Jest one lit'uhl kiss, lass," he mumbled, reaching out at her like a zombie at a speed that startled her. "Music mekin' me feel jumpy!" He grabbed her hand and Hermione slapped it away and took off running as fast as she can through Slughorn's now enlarged dance-floor.

McLaggen whooped. "I love em' when they're feisty, argh!"

Hermione snuck behind dancing couples, but that proved to be impossible, because everyone began swinging on the polished wood floor around her. She leapt behind an elderly wizarding couple, but recoiled with agony as the witch accidentally kicked her in the shoulder.

"Beg your pardon, missy!" The cranky witch snapped, and Hermione had not choice but to look for another avenue of escape.

"Pardon yourself, you old hack," she muttered, looking back over her shoulder, mutinously.

"Jane!" bellowed McLaggen, and she stopped dead in her tracks as the music reached its drumming interlude. "You're hiding from me!"

"You genius!" Hermione yelled, as throes of couples danced around her, their colorful skirts grazing her. "But you're supposed to stay hidden in my game," she added darkly.

"Not fer long, my sweet!" He bustled his way through the scores of dancers drunkenly, but by the time he reached her spot, Hermione had escaped the dance floor and positioned herself behind a group of chatting witches.

She sighed in relief and turned to the conversation.

Much to her surprise, a pair of familiar blue eyes with a rascally gleam met hers.

"Trouble in paradise?" grinned Alphard Black.

"You have no idea," muttered Hermione, shaking her head. "And I thought I saw the worst of him when he was sober."

He broke into a light-hearted guffaw. "Yeah, that big bloke was trying to persuade me to take a pinch out of his snuffbox and I thought it was an invitation for something androgynous."

"I doubt it," she replied dryly, "since he's mentally made me his wife and is now trying to exhibit our honeymoon-night to the crowd."

"Ah, so I take it that you're having a good time so far, Mrs. McTavish?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, but it seems that my 'beloved' is becoming a little over-zealous there."

He smirked. "Who, Riddle?"

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, and her heart gave a horrible uneasy lurch upon hearing his name. Recovering, she shot Sirius' uncle a sarcastic and decidedly _unaffected_ look.

"No,_ Alphard," _she ground, "McLaggen!"

"Oh, yes," said Alphard quickly as though he had not sensed her shock. "The one who's been howling for your hand in marriage across the dance floor for the past five minutes?"

Hermione ducked her head to hide as McLaggen came tumbling into view. "The very same."

Alphard gave her a commiserating look and gestured at the witch wearing blue and gold dress robes, "This is Celestina Warbeck by the way, rising star on the Wizarding Wireless Network!"

"I'm very pleased to meet you," said Hermione politely as she shook hands with the witch. "It's always nice to be acquainted with those who don't intend to force me to become their wives."

Celestina laughed melodiously, "I must say, Hogwarts has changed since I left over a decade ago—we never used to have people as friendly as this big rascal here and yourself."

"Oh?" said Hermione. "So Black has charmed you, as well?"

Alphard was having his hair ruffled by an old, bold-looking witch. He looked distinctively nettled and in pain.

Celestina laughed again. "That lunatic?" she choked, "No, best if you leave this one to his own devices—he reminds me of my husband Frederick—both are amazingly immature, but at least Alphard isn't thirty."

Hermione grinned and Alphard looked over. "Were you two talking about me?" he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"No," the women said quickly together.  
Hermione looked over and accidentally caught McLaggen's gawking blue eye. He gave a huge double-take and immediately began to pound his way through the crowd to reach her.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" she exclaimed in exasperation, "You'd think that he'd learn by now that persistence is most unappreciated when you have the manners of a troll."

Celestina let out a low whistle. "And he kind of reminds me of my horrid great uncle Emeric who looked like one," she remarked.

Hermione sagged in disbelief. "I think I'll make my escape before he tries to snatch me into his arms again," she muttered.

"Do you need any help?" said Alphard quickly, moving forward, but she shook her head.

"Don't want to embarrass the poor fellow any more than he will be once he's woken up tomorrow," she said grimly. "I mean, he may hate himself in the morning, but the rest of us are doing it now."

"Jane," he scolded. "You're too damn kind for your own good!"

"Funny how the last person who told me that is now plotting to carry me off to his lair," Hermione said dryly.

"Aha!" Hermione finally spotted Ron by the door, chatting animatedly with a large, muscly woman wearing orange robes that could only belong to a Chudley Cannons player.  
With a furtive glance at Alphard, she executed a mock curtsy. "Pardon me Mr. Black, I believe this is my queue to depart. Please send Lester my fond regards should he come this way."

Alphard glanced over his shoulder. "I'll send him your regards, Miss Granger. But if you tarry, you may as well send them yourself, because he's just knocked Ol' Sluggy into his cake, and I think he's after your blood by the looks of things."

_"Oh, Merlin."_

Professor Slughorn's backside was wriggling and his legs were kicking wildly as his guests tried to lift him from the enormous green cake he fell into. There was bright green icing everywhere, the most of it being plastered all over McLaggen, who Hermione hadn't spotted until she noticed that a real-life green ogre was barreling towards her, still bottom-over-elbows drunk.

"My lady?" smirked Alphard, giving her a mock bow.

"See you later, Alphard," Hermione squeaked, inching away.

With a fleeting incoherent excuse for her abrupt departure to Celestina, Hermione stole her way stealthily across Slughorn's vast marquee through the boisterous crowd, past the orchestra, edging around a number of silver platters carried by house-elves and slunk through the door, snatching a yelping Ron by the lapels of his leprechaun jacket and dragging him along with her.

* * *

A/N: ...AND THE PLOT THICKENS!!  
..._I hope you liked this chapter, if you could please leave a comment, a response or a glowering missive on your opinion of it, whether you liked it, hated it or thought it was beyond doubt the most horrible piece of writing you had ever had the misfortune to look at and would love nothing better than to burn your eyes out after this or put a voodoo curse on me for even coming up with this story in the first place and-- uh, well you get the picture..._

_ I would love to hear your feedback and comment!_

* * *


End file.
